Free Hitting Back by Andy Murray

same. When you sit in a
chair, it feels so strange. Everything seems much bigger and the
net feels ridiculously high.
    It reminded me of a wheelchair player I'd met in Tarbes as a
junior who had the hardest handshake I've ever felt in my life.
That was just him saying hello. I thought: 'Wow. My hand is
completely crushed.' It hurt like hell. Now I know why they
have to be so strong. Having tried and abysmally failed to do
what those guys do every day I have so much respect for them.
    The injury seemed to go on and on. My mum has described
the time as 'hell for everyone', but the knee finally responded
to rest. By the following summer I was ready to play again,
nervously, as a wild card on the grass at Surbiton. It was a nice
easy warm-up for Wimbledon – I wish. In fact, I was playing
Jimmy Wang, a 20-year-old former junior world number one,
ranked about 200 on the senior tour. Within minutes I was two
breaks up, leading 3–0 in the first set. I'm thinking 'Wow, I
wasn't expecting that.' Then at 3–1 I slipped on the grass and
hurt my hip. Game over.
    I don't even want to think about how disgusted I was, but
there are only two options: give up or keep going. I kept going,
not least because I met a man who proved to be really good for
me. Mum found this French physio, Jean-Pierre Bruyere,
working part-time for the LTA, and I don't know how he was
able to get me fit enough to play Roehampton, a tournament
for juniors running up to the first week of Wimbledon, but he
did. In ten days I was on court again, winning 6–1 6–1. In fact,
I won my first three matches really, really easily and reached
the final. There, I admit, I faced an obstacle in the shape of
Gael Monfils, my long-time friend and rival, who was runaway
world number one junior. He had already won the Australian
and French Opens that year, and this was his warm-up for an
assault on Wimbledon. I lost 7–5 6–4, having served for the
first set. Normally I'd be furious with myself, but this time I
was happy. I was so relieved, after all I'd been through, that
I hadn't completely lost my game.
    I owe a great deal to Jean-Pierre. He was one of the most
caring people I'd ever met. After all those physios and doctors
telling me: Don't worry about it, just growing pains, come
back in three weeks, at last here was someone who believed
me. He always told me: 'Don't let anyone mess with you. Take
care of yourself. I want you to achieve your dreams. I don't
want anyone to stop you by pushing you too hard when you're
too young. It's your body, your life. If you're hurt – regardless
of what anyone says – don't play.' You can see that I've carried
that advice with me ever since. He was often pretty dramatic
about things, but then he's French. I was fine about that. I
understood him and knew he would occasionally go over the
top in his analysis. If I said my back was hurting, he would say:
'OK, let's get an MRI scan. 'Many physios would say: 'It's fine,
don't worry.' Jean Pierre would say: 'Maybe it's the start of a
stress fracture. Let's be sure.' I was certainly grateful to be in
good hands and he has helped me through many other injuries
since.
    I reached the third round of Wimbledon Juniors, losing to
Woong-Sun Jun of Korea. I didn't play particularly well, but
my body was still hurting from my efforts the week before after
a seven-month lay-off. I'd lost strength and coordination, but
slowly I could feel my game rebuilding again.
    Maybe not so slowly. I took off with Leon to play four
Futures tournaments, three in Spain and one in Italy. Basically
I was a 17-year-old taking on the men. I won the first, made
the semis of the second, the second round of the third and
that's when I stopped working with Leon, my coach since I was
eleven.
    I can't remember what the row was about, but it was
certainly something silly. I was at that age when I was starting
to grow up and I didn't want to be treated like a kid. I was
rebelling against being told what to do. We'd been together