Shabbat on two wheels
My mom gently shakes me awake. “Gabs, your tennis match is in three hours – you have to head out soon!” I jump out of my bed. My outfit is already picked from the night before. I’m wearing my royal blue Nike dress from the new US open collection, my current favorite. I quickly get dressed, do my hair in a perfectly slicked back ponytail, put on my matching visor and lace up my tennis shoes.
That’s when my preparation routine diverges from other junior tennis players. Instead of hopping into the back seat of the car, I mount my black two-wheel scooter and start the 10 mile trek to the tennis courts.
The reason I am scooting instead of driving: today is my sabbath and I’m an observant Jew. Even though I don’t drive on Shabbat, I remain a committed, competitive athlete and tournaments exclusively start on Saturdays. That means I need to find ways to get to my tennis matches by foot, or, in my case, on two wheels.
My passion for tennis started when I was 11 and the COVID-19 pandemic hit. I was in fourth grade at the time and going from a normal school routine to being stuck at home was very difficult. When my parents insisted I get busy doing something outdoors, I tried tennis. It stuck.
I loved the feeling of butterflies in my stomach before every match when the tournament director called my name and directed me to the court I’d be playing on. I loved when the coach handed me three balls and sent me off. When I started winning matches, nothing beat the rush of relief, happiness and anticipation for my next match.
When school returned to a normal schedule post-pandemic, I realized that I would rather be on the tennis court than sitting in the classroom for hours a day. That led to my choice to start homeschooling so I could concentrate on tennis more fulltime.
Today, my day starts at the crack of dawn with two hours of tennis drills before heading to the gym to strength train. After that, it’s back to the tennis court to hone my skills, based on what I need to perfect after my previous match. The second section of the day is mentally tougher because my coach is intentionally focusing on my areas of discomfort. After that, I stretch and start my school day where I keep up a rigorous dual curriculum of secular and Judaic studies. In the evening is daily physical therapy, to make sure I don’t get injured from my strenuous routine.
Maintaining my commitment to being a competitive athlete while fully observing my religion takes grit and creativity, especially on Saturdays.
“Why’d you bring that thing?”
“We scooter here on Saturdays. We’re Sabbath-observant.”
Blank stares.
People might think my religious observance limits my athletic aspirations. It’s actually exactly the opposite. Being the only observant Jewish kid is hard at first, but it also makes me stronger. I know I am choosing to put my values first while still chasing something I love. That gives me courage. Whenever I step on the court, I feel Hashem is with me, and even more on Shabbat. I come from generations who put faith first while other priorities competed. When I am scootering on Shabbat, I tap into that legacy.
My faith also gives me perspective. Knowing that there is always going to be something more important than the game helps me bounce back from losses when I feel terrible. I see from my peers how the intensity and competitiveness of tennis can take over your life. To be honest, I feel that pull too, because I have sacrificed so much to compete. But my faith and values give me a constant reminder that there is a world outside of the fences of the tennis court. When I put my racket down, win or lose, I know I’m going home to a religious practice that keeps me grounded. My faith is a stronghold against slipping into an all-or-nothing mentality.
And, of course, there’s the added benefit of arriving at my match with a pre-game workout. After scootering 10 miles my body is warm and my mind is locked in. I know I’m ready to fight and compete until my body gives out.
