Martina Hingis HEATHER DAVIS
When I was 12 I thought my life would be different if I had the same running shoes as the other kids in my Grade 7 class. I also thought that if I had an old typewriter that went clickety-clack, I could be a great writer.
Now that I'm all grown up, I watch TV advertisements with scepticism: "Humph. That won't really change my life."
But two weeks ago, I fell for it all over again and I'm not sorry.
Saturday, I went to the Du Maurier International in Montreal (that's tennis, not smoking) and saw Hingis and Martinez face off in the semi-finals. I thought it was luck that had allowed me to be there, but maybe it was fate. That and being in the right place at the right time.
We were at Gilbert's when his brother phoned saying he had tickets to give away. Behind him, Ghis hopped about with his arms in the air, mouthing, "Me! Me!"
Thanks, I told Gilbert. My Mom is going to die when she hears this!
I knew my mother would be watching the game in Vancouver. Imagine if she saw me?
People like to make other people jealous. I'm not sure what evolutionary purpose this serves, but I was feeling good about making my mother jealous when we arrived at the stadium and found our seats. I expected to see some great tennis, nothing more, nothing less.
I got more.
It was Martina Hingis. She was literally bouncing on her feet. She was smiling in anticipation. Her simple ponytail bobbed out from the back of her white visor-hat. She looked fit and athletic and sun-tanned in her green Adidas top and short navy skirt.
I felt as though a ray of light were shining down from the heavens upon her. How could anyone not root for her?
She was zooming around the court like a streak of lightning. She was poised, focused, and ready for the next ball. And she was still smiling.
She was confident. When Martinez whacked a ball at her, she ran for it. She was always looking for the next one coming. She was cleaning up the court.
Bounce. Bounce. Bounce-bounce-bounce.
I loved her and I hated her at the same time. She fascinated me. I had wanted to get in better shape since moving from BC. I wanted to run around the court. I wanted to hit the ball. I wanted to bounce on my feet.
Maybe, I thought, spectator sports are not for me. I had come to watch and here I was -- jealous!
On top of that, we were sitting on the wrong side. I could see that we weren't going to be on television.
Now I know that if you're not happy with your life, you should change it, but I am just six months away from turning 30, and I know that this is easier to talk about than to do. In fact if you wrote down all the comments I've made to this effect in my life, you could read your way to China. Really.
But here's what I've learned: Hope springs eternal and should not be squished.
So, the next day I watched Hingis play in the finals.
Serena Williams kicked her butt in the first round 6-0. Martina wasn't smiling. She even lost a bit of her bounce. But she didn't give up.
She came back to win the second set and then the tournament. I guess it helped me see her as a real person with strengths and weaknesses, good days and bad. It made me admire her more. Heck, even the French she spoke after accepting the trophy was pretty good.
So I guess you could say I've been inspired.
For two weeks now I've been riding my bike every second day. I've been out in the rain, the sun, and even the early morning. I've seen deer and foxes, and frogs hanging out in puddles on the road.
The adult in me knows that exercise is good for my health. It helps my body function properly. It helps me deal with stress.
But it's the twelve year old that gets me out the door.
The same twelve year old that dreamt of changing her life with a clickety-clackety old typewriter. The twelve year old that imagines she's Martina Hingis.
Copyright © 2000 Heather Davis/Log Cabin Chronicles/09.00 |
