COACHING 101

It was 3:15 p.m. in the middle of April and it was time for girls’ high school tennis practice. I was clad in my winter coat, beret and gloves, ready to weather the two hours in the 40-degree temperatures with wind gusts of up to 20 miles an hour. The team lumbered over to the courts, lugging their overstuffed backpacks. Most girls were dressed in only shorts and a t-shirt.

Me: Good Lord, you guys! It is freezing out here! You need to at least put on a sweatshirt and some pants!

Everyone: It’s okay. We will warm up once we start practicing. Love the hat, Coach Brown.

Me: Thanks. You will all be begging to wear this hat in about 30 minutes. Now, go warm up.

This was the script every day of April. Other daily conversations included: Why didn’t you eat anything today? You need to get more than three hours of sleep per night! I’m sure if you talk to your teachers, they will help you understand what is happening. You need to date someone who will make you feel good about yourself. No, I don’t want to be in a Tik Tok.

I spent two seasons as an assistant girls’ high school tennis coach. Many people asked questions, trying to figure out how this happened. Do you have a daughter on the team? No. Do you play tennis? No, not since 1986. Then, I would launch into my limited qualifications. I played on my high school tennis team for two years. I like to hit the tennis ball. I was available.

There were other qualifications that I didn’t reveal. I grew up playing mini-tennis on my driveway against my brother, honing my backspin to keep the ball in bounds. When he wasn’t available to play, I pretended to be John McEnroe, volleying the ball against the brick wall at the side of our house for hours. My only formal training was a few summer lessons at the local high school.

I embarked on my coaching career at a pivotal time in my life. My daughter, Lillian, went to the University of Dayton and left our nest empty for the first time in 22 years. My son, Sam, had been out on his own for a few years. Lillian leaving for college left a deafening silence. She was my pal, my storyteller, the girl with the big laugh. She was gone. My husband was tied up with lots of commitments. I needed to be needed. I longed for personal interaction after surviving the great Covid isolation of 2020. And even though I doubted my qualifications and hadn’t picked up my racquet in three years, I agreed to help coach the team.

The head coach was a gentleman who had taught tennis for most of his life. His grown sons had played competitively. He was a master teacher of the fundamentals: grips, footwork, drills, strategy, form, and rules. What could this middle-aged, self-taught, JV-caliber player offer to help the team? I led with what I knew, and I knew teenage girls. I remember being one and I was successfully mothering one from afar. I understood the daily pressures of high school from my work as a substitute teacher at the school. I found my niche within the team as the Head Coach of Perspective and Encouragement. All girls between the ages of 14–18 years need a daily dose of both. Every day someone was facing something that distracted them from tennis. My job was to allow them to talk about their stress, help them make a plan to ease it and then remind them that the anxiety would pass. I usually would end the interaction with, “Now, take a few deep breaths in and out.”

Tennis is physical, but it is most certainly a mental game. It is a constant conversation with yourself. How you handle that conversation significantly impacts what happens on the court. How many high school girls can uplift themselves when things are not going well? I know I couldn’t. My job was to help the girls reframe mistakes as moments to say, “I learned that…” instead of “I failed to….” My job was to remind the girls to speak to themselves as they would speak to a good friend — with encouragement and empathy.

I told the team I didn’t care if they won the matches. I said that. I told the girls that I would only be mad if they lost the game because they gave up on themselves. I’m sure that was not a sentiment wholeheartedly echoed by the head coach. What head coach worth his salt would tell the team that he didn’t care if they won or lost? I reminded the girls that they could hustle for every ball, even if they were overmatched. That is something they could control.

I don’t remember the score of any match I played in high school. But, I remember the relationships I formed with people on the team and how they made me feel. I remember feeling secure in having my teammates. I felt like I belonged.

I made sure to make the girls feel proud of themselves just for putting themselves out there, risking failure and persisting. The girls made me feel proud of myself for trying something new. Even though I told them I didn’t care if they won, they won more matches than they lost. And even though they didn’t care if they were cold, I told them to dress warmly every day.