WIMBLEDON 2018, IN THE CATACOMBS – A PROLOGUE

I look at my ankles as if hypnotised. They are accurately taped, which is reassuring. Actually, I’m looking through them. Like almost through everything during these minutes. Or has it been hours? Nowhere is reality more blurred than at Wimbledon. It must be a fundamental part of this fascinating myth which, once again, has completely captured me while waiting in the wood-panelled locker room. I should have been on the court by now. However, the men’s semi-final between Rafael Nadal and Novak Djoković is yet to be over because it was suspended the night before. It seems everything will be delayed by two hours – at least this is what I was told. I have long since lost track of time in my little eternity.

Maybe it’s due to the fact that this magic place makes the calm before the storm so special. It is both the most divine and the most intense silence I have ever known. Filled with etiquette, history – and the hope of winning here, at this Grand Slam tournament. And I want to win; that’s all I’ve ever wanted. Therefore, I have been training hard the past few weeks and months, actually the past years, my entire life. Winning on this ‘sacred grass’ is the absolute pinnacle for many. I rank myself among them. Since I was a child, it has been my personal dream to make it to the finals here, on this tennis stage – and now the time has come. In fact, it is the second time around. In order to be able to stand here, I put up with every hardship in the early years, found the strength to fight back again and again and never lost faith.

However, now is not the time to think about that. Centre Court is packed with fifteen thousand spectators, and although I can’t yet see it, I can feel the euphoria. Like in July 2016, the American Serena Williams is my opponent; at that time, I missed out on becoming the first in twenty years to clinch a German women’s title after Steffi Graf. I lost the final because Serena, the world’s number-one player at the time, was just too strong. Her dominance was insurmountable, utterly intimidating. I had even won the Australian Open in January. However, especially in her service games, Serena played out her strengths and made her points with great force. She counterattacked mercilessly; she is a master at that.

But this time I feel ready. Something has changed; I am a different player. I am more experienced and better equipped to successfully end my long-awaited mission than back in 2016. However, as always, Serena will also have expertly prepared for this match. Even at thirty-six, she continues to be one of the best players on the tour. She is my ultimate challenge. Serena and the sacred grass equal a symbiosis. One is hardly imaginable without the other.

Serena is known for being a problem-solver, someone who can adapt to any situation during a match. A playing legend, already celebrated as the GOAT (Greatest of all Time). However, my Belgian coach, Wim Fissette, trained me on that – and on fitness. At the moment, I feel unbelievably fit. We focussed on my footwork which is one of my strengths. Long rallies will probably affect me less than they will Serena. Wim has always told me to consistently use my chances at the baseline. And I know that my serve has improved over the past two years, I am technically more experienced, have more power, and can change the direction of the ball and give it a different rotation.

This is what I tell myself on this 14 July 2018 while in the ladies’ dressing room, a kind of inner sanctum of the facility. There are wicker chairs, wide armchairs and chaises longues for relaxing, upholstered with floral fabrics. Muntin windows are adorned with matching floral curtains. Very British! Marvellous! Only the pros themselves and their coaches have access to this area, other team or family members have to stay outside in order not to disrupt concentration.

I haven’t seen Serena here. So far, she has won seven titles at Wimbledon and lost the final twice. What is it going to be like today, on this Saturday, with the sun warming the ‘women’s wing’? As far as I know, the Duchesses of Cambridge and Sussex, Kate and Meghan, are among the spectators, golfer Tiger Woods and Formula 1 star Lewis Hamilton, not to forget the elite London crowd – as well as the fans from all over the world. Serena, the new mother, proclaimed that she was going to play for all mothers of the world. All newspapers wrote about the ‘Comeback of the mum’, or ‘Mumback’, and expectations were high. It has been thirty-eight years since a mother last won Wimbledon, and now people are wishing for it to happen again. And the last remaining killjoy on the way to her triumphant comeback is me. But this shall not daunt me, and it does not intimidate me. These scripts, perfectly written by the newspapers, have nothing to do with what actually happens in a final. It comes down to completely different things, Serena’s party or not. Should the focus be on her, I can play freely, without being overwhelmed by any expectations. Everybody sees me as the one who has lost to Serena before, not as the one who has worked on her strengths. And who has learned to take advantage of her opponent’s mistakes. Equally to make use of her own courage. Challenge accepted; I am ready.

Of course, being humiliated is also possible, a second defeat against Serena. I do not ignore that. But if I am just scared, I am not doing myself any favours. Mentally, it would just bring me to my knees, so I will not allow it. Despite all the tension, I’m determined to do my best, to perform, maybe even achieve something historic. Who knows.

At that moment, Serena enters the room. We greet each other, a friendly nod, a ‘Hello, how are you?’ But that’s it, no other small talk.

She is warming up a good five metres away from me, stretches her playing arm, patters on the spot and talks with her French coach Patrick Mouratoglou. Her self-confidence permeates the room, I’m already familiar with that. They exchange short sentences and speak quietly. Certainly also about me, my game, my strengths, my weaknesses – her sophisticated tactics which I respect but don’t fear. Serena and I, we immensely respect each other.

I sneak a glance at her just as she looks at me out of the corner of her eye. She seems a little tired, less agile than she did two years ago. The birth of her child has noticeably changed her. What might she be thinking about me? That it might be more difficult to beat me this time? I am no longer the obvious underdog I was considered back in 2016.

Suddenly, I feel that I can defeat Serena today. The source of my belief sits very deep inside of me. Were I to locate this feeling anatomically, I would say: somewhere between the heart, gut and mind. This invisible power has an enormous presence, it feels pleasantly warm, extending into my limbs. I have never felt like this before such an important final, that’s for sure.

This pleasant feeling could, like GPS, guide me to the still long way to the Venus Rosewater Dish, namely the prize trophy. Nothing would mean more to me than winning here. I always liked trophies, even as a young girl. Everything I could win, I gratefully accepted. It gave me confidence. Trophies seemed to validate what I was doing – which was playing tennis since I was three years old. The silver bowl had yet to be added to my precious collection, it would have been a very special exhibit.

Suddenly, I am confident that I will take it home with me. It fills me with a lot of awe; I feel a little as though I’m about to face the gallows, but with the knowledge that I will be able to navigate my fate. Yes, here it is, my aggressiveness. Even if I have to fear Serena’s serve, she will have to be wary of my fast legs.

I take another look in her direction. Nothing that could throw me off. As I said, respect and admiration are fine, but I know what I am capable of. Should I lose, it would no longer be the downfall for me as it once was. But, I won’t lose, today I will make it. With accuracy and agility, I will run, and nobody will be able to stop me.

‘Ladies!’ a smart gentleman dressed in the neat club’s suit suddenly calls, asking us to leave with a polite but determined gesture. The unmistakable sign the countdown has started. From now on, it’s only forward, no going back. You have to show yourself; you are in the focus of the public, the cameras on the court, capturing our every emotion one-to-one and sending it to all continents. Our emotions are followed without filter, always exposing our joy, our anger, the gnawing grim determination inside of us, the hope, the relief when something risky turns out well. The entire spectrum. Including outbursts, tantrums, loud disputes with umpires. A perfect, precise game is only moderately interesting. This visual ‘helplessness’, as if you were presenting yourself naked, used to make me uncomfortable. I didn’t like it when people looked at me as though they wanted to read my mind. However, that is long in the past. Which also has to do with self-confidence. And with experience – gained in good times, but, above all, in bad times. And I’ve had quite a few of those.

Just a few minutes to go and then the match begins. I am on the way to Centre Court. Finally. It is definitely the most important match of my career so far. I hear the spectators, an announcer over the loudspeaker, and I see how the sun bathes the court in warm summer light. But in the next moment, everything fades out. Tunnel vision sets in, mentally trained at the flick of a switch. The racket in my hand, the anticipation of a ball in the other. Nothing else...