In professional tennis, not playing means losing ranking points, prize money and momentum. As Wimbledon approaches, Back in Action explores the culture that rewards availability, often at the expense of recovery.
Every summer, Wimbledon celebrates comebacks.
Players return from surgery, months on the sidelines and career-threatening injuries to walk back onto Centre Court.
Commentators praise their resilience, headlines celebrate their determination and fans applaud their return.
But hidden behind many of tennis’s most inspiring comeback stories is a more uncomfortable question: what if an athlete returns before they are truly ready?
In professional tennis, availability is currency.
Unlike athletes in many team sports, tennis players are effectively independent contractors; if they don’t compete, they don’t earn the prize money.
It creates a culture where simply being available can become more important than being healthy.
Dr Paul McCarthy, a practising sports psychologist, believes the pressure to remain available is entrenched within the sport.
“Sports that value toughness and availability and sometimes athletes can feel pressure to return as quickly as possible,” he says.
“What’s the best ability you can have? It’s availability.”
According to Dr McCarthy, the institutional pressure to perform means that an athlete returning to play ‘happens too quickly’ or they feel ‘forced’ to return to play before they are ready.
The consequence isn’t just physical re-injury, we can look at psychological fracturing. In the modern history of Wimbledon, we see that the grass centre court is littered with the casualties of this exact trap.
Deep dive into Wimbledon’s athletes
Following her historic US Open triumph, Emma Raducanu was thrust into the global spotlight.
Her body, unaccustomed to the brutal, relentless pace of the senior tour, suffered highly publicised physical setbacks including severe blisters on her hand playing at the 2022 Australian Open, as well as various leg and back injuries.
Facing intense media scrutiny and immense commercial pressure to remain the visible face of British tennis, Raducanu repeatedly rushed her rehabilitation and competed through these injuries.
Her journey mirrors Dr McCarthy’s warnings about the vicious cycle of the forced return.
When external expectations override an athlete’s biological timeline, they enter a dangerous loop where they are perpetually playing catch-up with their own health.
If Raducanu represents the external pressure of availability, Andy Murray represents the internal compulsion.
During his 2017 Wimbledon tournament, Murray pushed his physical limits, limping through five-set matches on a structurally failing hip.
He chose to endure agonising physical pain rather than pull out of his home Grand Slam.
For elite competitors, a sudden disruption to their routine cuts straight to their self-worth.
“For most athletes, they feel If I’m not training or competing, then ‘who am I’?” Dr McCarthy says. “Once they’re injured, there’s a disruption to their routine, their connection, their identity, their self-worth and the possible effects of what that injury has on all those facets.”
To avoid being ‘placed somewhat on the periphery’, tennis champions like Murray will willingly trade their future physical mobility just to keep their identity intact for one more afternoon on the centre court.
Then there is the psychological aftermath that lingers after rehabilitation is over.
After reaching the Wimbledon final, Nick Kyrgios watched his body unravel due to knee and foot injuries.
Desperate to protect his ranking and recreate his career-defining peak, he pushed his rehabilitation to absolute limits to make a comeback, only to tear a wrist ligament day before a tournament.
At the 2023 Australian Open, Kyrgios pulled out at the 11th hour, just one day before his opening match.
Sky Sports reported Kyrgios discussed his images in the game and his relationship with the media in 2023, and how his mental health rapidly was declining during injury.
The emotional and mental weight of coming back, knowing the intense scrutiny, the fear of re-injury and the pressure of trying to be the same player he was back in 2022 led to profound mental health struggles.
This is the hidden mental tax, what Dr McCarthy calls ‘body mistrust’.
“When somebody gets injured, the movements that were once automatic are now a lot more consciously monitored” he says. “Rebuilding trust within the body takes time, a lot of repetitions and more psychological safety to be able to say ‘I feel confident in my movement.’”
It is a side of recovery that rarely functions in Wimbledon coverage.
Fans can see strapping, braces and rehabilitation updates. They can track recovery timelines and return dates. What they cannot see is the fear of reinjury, the loss of confidence or the uncertainty that often remains after an athlete walks back onto the court.
Yet perhaps the most important lesson from injury is not how quickly an athlete returns.
It is whether they are allowed the time to return properly.
As Wimbledon prepares to showcase another summer of resilience and redemption, the most significant battle many players face may not be against the opponent standing across the net.
It may be against a culture that still rewards availability above all else.
