(by Sally Moyland)
Getting straight to the point – I got as close to being an Olympian as one could get without actually being one. I’m going to be an Olympic alternate. First Olympic alternate.
I’m writing this trip report just one day after the trials. With all of the emotions and flashbacks of losing that one match still with me. I remember myself once thinking, “What if I make the team?”, “Should I write a trip report?”, “Would that be too cocky?”. Now that I fell just short of the team, I think it’s perfect to write about it. Just after my last match of the trials, there was an USADA blood test I needed to do. As I was waiting my turn, the gloomy emotions hit. I went online to try and find some insight on what an Olympic alternate is and what to think of not making the team. I managed to find a couple of articles that soothed my emotions at the moment. However, as the majority of news reports focus on the actual Olympic athletes. I wanted to write something from my own experience that can help those in the same position. Hopefully, not just helping specifically Olympic alternates, but to all those that may be feeling lost and who can use some comfort and direction.
The US Olympic Trial for my sport – table tennis – was held at the end of March in the state of Louisiana. Let’s go back 2, 3, 4…. yes, four months, and bring ourselves back to California so I can start at the beginning of this story.
December of 2023, I was back home in Fremont, California after my last tournament of the year in Slovenia; the World Youth Championships. The next big thing was the Olympic trials. I had been dealing with my knee injury for over a year by then and when to do surgery was the most important question. Since the time for the trials wasn’t very clear, my parents and I decided that my health was more important and the surgery was to be done as soon as possible. So, I had my knee operated on as soon as I got back in early December. The outcome from such a procedure always carries some risk. For the first month and a half, even just bending my knee and walking was a concern. After countless physical training sessions, check-ups, and home recovery, I managed to get back into a somewhat more normal situation only a couple of weeks before the trials. Although my recovery time was short, I had visible improvement each day. It was a tough process and without much time, I felt much more anxiety than just a “before the competition nervousness”. It was a race against time….. A race that, despite not making the team, I’ll confidently say I won.
Now, time to head off to the competition. My parents and I took a red-eye flight from San Jose to Houston, then rented a car and drove from Houston to West Monroe, Louisiana. We decided to take this route because the airport in Louisiana is just too small, so there are very minimal flights that go there. It was better for us to land in the big IAH airport a little earlier, rent a car, and have more control of our time.
Upon arrival in West Monroe, I found the place to be quite nice and quiet. We arrived slightly later than expected, so bedtime that night was around eleven. I slept in the next morning as my parents went and got the groceries. Two o’clock in the afternoon, I packed up and got ready to go practice. On top of the fact my knee was still somewhat post-surgery, I had also strained my right tricep and shoulder during practice just a couple of days before the trials. So, before we left for practice or competition each morning, my mom had to spend twenty minutes taping me up. The tape was originally brought for my knee. However, it ended up on my arm; things happen.
The drive to the West Monroe Sports and Events Hall wasn’t long, about five minutes was enough. The outside was pretty standard. It had a parking lot, was out in the middle of nowhere, and was next to a tractor dealer……maybe not that standard. Anyhow, at least the inside was a pleasant surprise. By far hands down the best setup USATT has ever had and probably ever will until maybe the next Olympic trials. The first thing I noticed was that the place was clean. Clean is very important. It just is. Each court had non-slip flooring and was individually blocked off by barriers. The four tables up front were live streamed and used as competition tables for the Olympic trials, as the more than twenty tables back behind black curtains were used as practice/warm up tables. Just seeing the infrastructure was a great feeling already.
I took my time to warm up and stretch out, then had a practice session with one of my teammates. We played for about two hours before I headed back to rest. The competition anxiety was really kicking in. It was hard to fall asleep without flipping around like a fish on dry land for a good thirty minutes.
One more day of practice, then three days of competition. The competition schedule following was three best of seven matches each day for a total of nine matches. The first day was the group stage (stage 2) – the official name is “stage 2” because “stage 1” wasn’t played since there weren’t that many people, therefore the “stage 1” qualification round wasn’t needed. The second day was the first ranking bracket (stage 3 round 1). And the third day was another final ranking bracket (stage 3 round 2). A bit much in my opinion, but it is what it is.
Almost all the top seeds encountered some trouble in the group stage, including myself. After winning my first match in straight games, I lost my second 2:4. My opponent had short pips on her backhand and that brought me quite some trouble since I didn’t prepare enough for it. I was lucky enough to still advance as group winner after winning my last match 4:1. In the fifth game of that match, my opponent and I fought back and forth all the way up to 22:20. Not to be mistaken as the time we finished our match, 22:20 was the score of the last game. Winning the match while only losing one game helped me win the three way tie in our group. Although I was leading 3:1, the fifth game was a win or die situation. Since I pulled through, I was still able to secure my seeding in the ranking stage. The third seed of the trials, also my main opponent, wasn’t so lucky, as she came in second in her group and was seeded into the other half of the bracket.
I went into competition the next day happy with my draw and confident in myself. However, I decided to give everyone a scare as I went down three games to none in my first ranking match. It was more than just a challenge to fight back. Down three games feels like you’ve lost already. It’s basically a feeling of despair. I sat down in my corner and took the full one minute break between games. When I got back on that court, I had changed my mindset for the better. I was there to compete, not waiting to win. In the end, I finished off the match with just the slightest edge. The relief of making that huge comeback isn’t quite describable. But, I was definitely still shaking afterwards.
I won another match that day and successfully made it to the finals. There was a time gap before my final match of the day, so we went back to the Airbnb for a quick snack and nap break. I was already sore all over. After getting some rest, we headed back to the venue for a warm-up at around five in the evening.
I ended up finishing second in this first ranking bracket. The top seed finished first. And my main opponent finished third, meaning that we were in the same half for the second ranking bracket. If we were to successfully meet in the semifinals, it would be the bubble match and whoevers wins will make the team.
I woke up reasonably early on the third competition day. However, it was painful to get out of bed. My body was achy all over. I was only six matches in and still had three to go. *sigh* How am I to survive?
Although practice before my first match revealed actual pain in my left leg – my inner thigh felt strained and needed to be taped up as well – I made my way through it with good pace, saving as much energy as possible. We rushed back to the Airbnb right after the match so I could try to fuel up physically and mentally for the important match coming up.
It all came down to this one match. The winner between the two of us would make the Olympic team. I tried to take a nap before the match, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t fall asleep. It was nerve racking to know I was so close, only one match away.
I started off a little slow, dropping the first game. The second was a tight one. I came out with the slightest advantage, winning in deuce. Overall, I felt quite tight. My opponent was playing very well, but I was just hanging on. The third game started off in my favor. However, after leading 8:5, my opponent came back six in a row to take the game. Even though the match had just started and the game score was just 1:2, the comeback itself was already devastating. I sat in the corner and tried to pull myself together as I iced up my knee.
Back at it in the fourth game, but I felt suppressed in all aspects. She was faster than me and more consistent than me, it felt suffocating. After I started off the fourth game 0:3, all I could do was calm down, take some risks, and just play it one ball at a time. I was able to switch that gear on to make a few good counter loops. With that, I pulled way ahead and gave myself five whole game points. Then, the downhill came. If I remember correctly, the comeback started off with a direct receive error on my side. My opponent kept the pursuit going, and although I really didn’t want to use a timeout that game, I was forced to at 10:9 with only one game point left. Unfortunately, it was her serve and she seized her opportunity. Although I brought it to 11:11, ultimately, I still lost this game that I was in so much control of. To my Three Kingdom fans out there, Cao Cao once said, “A cooked duck has flown away”. Yep, that’s how I felt.
Now, back in my corner, again with ice on my knee (ice helps sooth pain). This time, with my face in my towel, just really trying to let that setback go. With my back against the ropes, down 1:3 in games, I finally let my hand loose, and played more freely. The fifth game went by quickly as I took it 11:4. Maybe my opponent was a little overwhelmed by the lead she had, but whatever “easy” fifth game I had wasn’t going to happen again in the sixth.
The sixth game was reset, and again I had to fight from 0:0. We went up the scoreline neck and neck with each other all the way to 7:7. Here, my opponent pulled away and I had three match points against me. After I got just one point back, a timeout was called on her end. Being down 8:10, the one minute timeout break felt long. It was hard to think positive, but I urged myself to hang in there. Getting back to the game, I didn’t give up, but still came up short. Although breaking another match point, I wasn’t able to cross that last barrier. It was a moment of despair, and with my hands on my knees, I felt immensely distraught.
Despite this, good sportsmanship is still the rule, so I shook hands with the umpires, my opponent, her coach, and mine as well. Then, I was off to find someplace to cry. You may have seen me lose a match, but I’m quite confident that you’ve rarely or maybe even never seen me cry. In approximately the last 3-5 years or so, I don’t recall crying because of losing a table tennis match. There are things worth crying for, but losing a match never really came to be one. This time however, the loss really hurt. It hurt bad. I composed myself well enough to not lose it in front of everyone. Instead, with my parents accompanying me, we found the player’s lounge to be empty so we headed in there. I fell into a chair as my bag dropped to the floor. I started feeling very lost. My eyes found my mother’s and immediately the tears found their way as I started bawling out. In the moment, the pain was from the loss. It was from being so close yet so far to becoming an Olympian. It was that I was leading, yet couldn’t finish it off.
Now, looking back, it still hurts. But more for the effort my parents and I put in. The pain endured after my surgery. The trouble my mother went through to find me training in the Bay Area. The physical training sessions that I did multiple times a day. Just all the work and effort we put in. It truly is sad to know that for the 2024 Olympic Games, I will not be an Olympian.
After the deciding match, I had to play one more to finish the ranking of third and fourth place. Before that match, one of my favorite coaches came to me, patted me on the back and said, “Hey Sally, I know how you feel, it’s tough. But, you can get upset and complain, or you’ll work your ass off and come back and beat the heck out of everyone next time”. Now, the language was a bit rough, but the words were so kind. It was the comfort and encouragement that I greatly needed in that moment. Playing after the crying session wasn’t ideal, but I got the job done anyway.
To close up, I had to do the dreaded drug test. Dreaded by me at least. I hated the urine tests because I never needed to go. Luckily, this time it was a blood test. As I mentioned in the introduction, when I was waiting my turn to do the test, I started to think of this position I’ve ended up in. I didn’t make the team, but I was also only just short of it. So, what should I think of as an Olympic alternate? Here are some of my thoughts.
First of all, I worked so hard and invested so much. It wasn’t the spot I wanted, but it is also to be treasured and it’s definitely still something to be very proud of. There are tons and tons of people out there willing to trade for my spot.
The most important thing in the moment of negative emotions is deep breaths and knowing it’s ok. Not making the team doesn’t change any of the other things that are much more important in life. My parents still love me, they’re proud of me, and I’m proud of me. I did my best. A lot of the time you feel regret after losing. Regret is the worst feeling. There is a saying I really like that reads, “Suffer the pain of discipline or the pain of regret”. I can tell you for sure that the latter is way worse. Fortunately, this time, I can proudly say that I have no regrets. Yes, there are a boatload of things to improve, and that’s ok.
In the end, falling short of the team is still devastating and that won’t change. But guess what? It really is ok. For sure this is easier said than done, as I am still going through the feelings myself; worst comes to worst, time will heal you. Life will go on, you’ll still be amazing, and just know your support is still there for you. I’m a lucky girl because I have parents that I could never ask more of. But, for those out there that don’t have the strongest backing, just know that you have you. You are your biggest supporter and continue chasing those dreams.
Thank you to my lovely parents for going through all this trouble and putting in all this work. I appreciate and love you with all my heart. Also, a big thanks to my sponsors, Bowmar Sports – Butterfly North and Latin America, Cathay Life Insurance, Song Shan High School, Kingbright, and my club, Table Tennis America (TTA).
Lastly, I want to give a special thanks to Stanford Children’s Hospital for the successful surgery on my knee and the effort and care put into the rehab post operation. Without them, I wouldn’t have even been able to give a shot at the trials, let alone finish it so well.
After a couple days of rest, I will be right back at it. Hopefully I get to have some more cool experiences to share in the near future. With that, thank you for reading my trip report and I will see you next time! Oh, wait! One more thing: Thank you USATT for having umpires each match. Doesn’t usually happen, but I hope you keep it up.
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