Squash Magazine: Ivy Pochoda: Back in the Saddle

Back in the Saddle By Ivy Pochoda, WISPA No. 85

Last August I quit my job as a magazine editor, my only real job since finishing school, to pursue a writing project. The absence of any concrete structure in my daily schedule left me with an interesting question: should I start playing competitive squash again? Initially I decided against it. Constant travel, constant frustration, and constant distraction left me feeling drained and I feared that the longer I spent on the professional tour, the more I was acquiring the sour selfishness of someone who has to put herself first all the time. But then I received an invitation to try out for the 2002 Women's Team. I was on the verge of discarding it, finishing once and for all with the nonsense that kept me awake at night and filled my parents' and friends' ears with petty grievances and nervous patter. But I couldn't decline, for to do so would be to walk away from squash unsatisfied, to finish unfinished. I realized that I needed to carve a niche for squash in my life without letting it overrun my thoughts and other interests. It took me some time to muster up the courage to call Liz Irving, my last coach, and tell her that I wanted to get back in the game, on my own terms. It felt like I was admitting defeat. She would think that working hadn't worked out and that training alone had been a failure. Even though these things weren't true, I felt that I was returning with my hat in hand to drink from the altar of professional squash. Boy was I wrong. In my sabbatical from organized and serious squash training, Liz had set up her Elite Squash Academy that caters specifically to female athletes. Initially this scared me. I felt that I would be judged with that unspoken competitiveness that flows between sportswomen. Plus, in college I had authored a controversial article about girls who hate girls—or girls who hate girlishness—that didn't win me any extra friends on my squash team. Signing up to train with a group of women would be hypocritical. But one minute on the phone with Liz, who had remained a close friend while not being a coach, put my fears at rest. She immediately understood that when I came back squash was not going to be my life, but the time I dedicated to it would be serious and fulfilling. She even suggested that I only attend the academy once to twice a week. (I now go three times.) After one day on court under Liz's attentive gaze, I realized that the best resource for my squash had been in Amsterdam all along. I had been too stubborn and too embarrassed to admit it. In fact, I had gone so far as to never practice at the same club as Liz and her players that I had only practiced with a handful of men's club players, and, to my dismay, I had picked up some of their unorthodox habits. What I found in Liz's care were a group of female squash players who ranged in age from 18 to 37, from world junior champions to players working their hearts out for personal goals in the Dutch nationals. It's a melting pot of different experience levels, different experiences, and different intentions. While our ability levels vary from top 10 to 128 on the ranking list, Liz and Morten Larsen, who handles the painful physical side of our training, bring us together in a cohesive unit once or twice a day. Together they have devised a program that combines productive pain, tactics, and technique, that doesn't award ability alone, but values dedication above all. In our group we have a medical school student and a law school student—two of the more dedicated and higher ranked players—which goes to show that life and squash, at least on the women's tour, can definitely coexist. So many US players seem to think that playing high level squash will be a detriment to a professional career, but as Berkeley Belknap and Marty Clark, to give some hometown examples, have proven, it is possible to have it both ways. It was relieving to discover that what I suspected all along turned out to be true. A squash career can be perfectly satisfying when wound around another primary interest. (Perhaps to be a top 10 player this may not be the case, but it seems to work for top 20.) This discovery has allowed me to relax and ultimately to play better. The nagging self doubt about whether fulltime professional sports was truly for me—which consistently left me second guessing myself and playing badly—has been put to rest. When I go to train, everyone typically inquires, with genuine interest, about how my writing is going. Sometimes we even compare our multi-tasking methods. But I've finally found a place where self definition does not need to be monolithic. A pursuit outside squash doesn't detract from the seriousness of your athletic ambition, but in a way it underlines it. In response to these columns, I have received the same criticism several times: “We can't tell if you are playing squash anymore. You go back and forth so often.” It's true that I seem to waffle, but in my mind the answer was always there: I am doing both. And with Liz's help, I know that this is okay. I'm playing my first WISPA tournament in a year next week and I'm writing hard. Strangely enough, for the first time my mind is at rest.