I was seven years old when I first played tennis, in a small club south of Copenhagen. My parents, my older brother, Patrik, and their friends would put me up in the umpire's chair-"Caroline, sit up there and judge our match"-and would never listen to anything I said. One day I put my foot down and said, "No-I'm going to play."
I spent hours at the practice wall, and pretty soon I got the hang of it. My dad would be pleading, "Come on, Caroline-we have to have dinner." And I'd just say, "I'm not ready yet." I was competitive, even at that age. No matter what we were doingMonopoly, card games, sports-I wanted to be the best, and I wanted to win.
Everyone in my family is athletic: My mom used to play volleyball on the Polish national team, and my dad played professional soccer in both Poland and Denmark. But within a year I'd beat my mom at tennis, and when I was 10 I beat my brother, who was 14. He became so upset that he quit the sport forever (he went on to play professional soccer in Denmark). I never beat my dad-he's so competitive that any time I got close, he'd find a way to stop the match.
Three years ago, having achieved almost everything I'd ever set out to do, I walked away from the professional tour. I wanted to start a family, and I needed a break. I had no idea how long that break would last. But then, one day late last year, I found myself setting up a couple of sessions on the court. And when my dad visited me in Florida, I realized I needed advice. I hit for 20, 30 minutes-I'm not sure how long, but at one point I looked at him and said, "I feel like I'm hitting it better than I ever have. Am I making that up?"
He said I wasn't making that up. And that's when I knew I had to get back out there.
Esta historia es de la edición August 2023 de Vogue US.
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