It’s Certainty.

Watching the men’s singles French Open tournament is always a bit like checking in on an old friend to see how they’re doing. 

***

It’s certainty.

It’s reassuring. 

It’s sweaty and clay-court dirtying. 

It’s physical and gruelling. 

It’s grinding and aching.

It’s knees jarring and breaking. 

It’s injections in the foot every other evening.

It’s hair tumbling and falling.

It’s nerves and the nail biting.

It’s the begging and praying.

***

It’s withdrawing.

It’s finally losing.

It’s sitting in doctor surgeries waiting.

It’s x-ray analysing.

It’s panicking and worrying.

It’s bandages and bloodying.

It’s the world always changing but this bad luck remaining.

It’s waking up in the morning and going to bed in the evening.

It’s really not knowing.

Is this the ending?

***

It’s overcoming.

It’s keep believing.

It’s finding the motivation.

It’s rehabbing.

It’s forever fist-pumping.

It’s slow at first before increasing.

It’s winding and lung-busting.

It’s running and sweating.

It’s trying and playing.

It’s a great deal of crying and failing.

It’s a whole lot of stopping and starting.

It’s how much longer can the body keep operating?

It’s is it time for yet another operation-ing?

It’s how much further are they going to keep pushing?

The muscles keep screaming but the brain is still longing.

It’s wondering and debating.

It’s considering and waiting.

And waiting…

And waiting…

And waiting…

***

It’s lightning striking.

It’s yet another title winning.

It’s feeling 22-ing!

It’s a big bit of history-ing.

It’s a little bit of everything.

It’s all or nothing.

***

It’s do some people really think he’s faking?!

***

It’s uncertainty.