Considering the injuries I’ve had, considering the challenges I’ve faced over the last 18 or so months, considering my age… is it crazy for me to be aiming for the Olympics this year?
Is it even crazier of me to share that aim with you all here, so publicly, knowing that I may not even qualify? Am I just setting myself up for embarrassment if I fail?
The last year has been a wild ride of constant training, tournaments, matches. I’ve been grinding hard, pushing myself to the max to stay in top form.
And not just physically. Mentally, too. The fear of getting injured is always there, lurking in the back of my mind. And being far from family? Man, that’s tough. I miss them like crazy.
At this stage of my career, I believe consistency is more important than anything. That’s why over the last months, I’ve made the choice to play every single week. That decision has brought me to play in nine tournaments in the last three months alone: New Zealand, Australia, Rotterdam, Montpellier, Dubai, Qatar, California, Miami… And now Estoril, Portugal, where I’m writing this now. The jetlag is real. 😩
In addition to getting back on the court, I’ve had to get back into the rhythm of winning and losing. Relearn to normalize the ups and downs and move on to the next one without staying stuck on losses or setbacks. Stay consistent in my training even when I just want to drop everything and sleep for three days. Trust in my abilities as an athlete. And stay strong in moments when I feel most vulnerable: when I miss my wife, when I miss my daughter, when I miss home.
And then there’s the pressure. The pressure of qualifying for one of four French spots. The pressure of knowing this might be my last shot at making it to the Olympics. The pressure of performing on the world stage, with everyone watching. Oh, and did I mention the jetlag?
Anyway, that’s where I’m at now, physically, mentally, professionally, and personally.
So… why am I sharing my Olympic dream here? It’s not a question of bravado, or wishful thinking, or even publicly challenging myself. Far from it! For me, it’s a question of being a living example of something I value: dreaming big. Dreaming without fear. Daring to dream even if others think you’re crazy. Even if it doesn’t work out.
And hey, if Paris doesn’t happen, there’s always LA in 2028, right? 😏
When I started this blog, I said that I’d try not to be a giver of lessons. But I’m definitely a taker of lessons! I think part of what’s gotten me to where I am is the belief that everyone has something to teach me, so I want to share some of things I’ve picked up from people I know or just admire, which in the case of my wife Elina checks both those boxes. 😉
There’s so much value in taking a stance.
It’s tempting to always take the middle ground and stay neutral, not risk offending anyone. And in many cases, that can be the wise thing to do. But sometimes—when it really matters to you—taking a strong position is the most powerful thing you can do, if only for yourself. Standing firm for what you believe definitely opens you up to criticism, but in the end, it gives you a sense of integrity and alignment with oneself. That’s a lesson in courage that I admire so much.
Separate your struggles from your self.
From motherhood, to our respective comebacks, to the pressures of public life, to her deeply personal connection to the situation in Ukraine, Elina’s shown me the art of compartmentalizing without over-identifying. Her ability to keep a clear head in the chaos is amazing. One way I try to apply this to my own life is by not taking anything personally: if someone criticizes my game, or writes something rude about me online, I remind myself it’s not about me. It’s so simple, but it helps take the sting out of a stressful situation.
Responsibility can be as rewarding as risk.
Particularly throughout my recovery period, and the first year with our daughter, Elina has shown me that ‘slowing down’ doesn’t have to mean ‘missing out’. I’ve learned that when you do anything with enough attention—even the seemingly boring, everyday stuff—it becomes something fulfilling. As a player, husband, and father, I’ve come to realize that being responsible is not just important, but actually pretty cool 🙂
When I last left you, I’ll be honest, I wasn’t feeling great. I was at the start of my comeback—finally, my big comeback—and… well, as so often happens in life, things didn’t go exactly as planned.
For those of you who followed those first matches I played in the US, you know things were a little bumpy. I lost, multiple times—and while “on to the next one” remains my motto, I’m only human, and after all those months of looking forward to playing, I was feeling more than a little deflated.
…I wish I could say things got better after that.
But then in Miami, boom: I injured my hand. Again. Such a blow to my morale. But… I had to keep up with preparation for my absolute favorite tournament, Roland Garros. So a little injection into my hand and off we went again: I kept trying to regain my confidence throughout a series of lower-category tournaments (challengers).
Result? Loss, loss, loss: you can imagine my frustration. At some point during all this, I had to have a meeting with myself, figure out what was working, what wasn’t. Mentally, I was there: motivated, pumped up, ready. It was physically and tennis-wise that I was falling short. Taking a good, hard look at things helped me arrive at a few key insights that ultimately led to a very difficult choice: to change up my entire team.
A difficult decision, as you can imagine. Stuff like this is always tough, whether it’s personal or professional. And in my case, it was both.
I want to highlight something really important here: It’s not that my previous team wasn’t good. My previous team was world-class, and still is. I believe there is no such thing as “the best team” in the absolute sense; only “the best team for where you are at right now.” And I was at a crossroads in my career where everything that had worked so well up to that point simply didn’t anymore, and as many of you business leaders will know very well, stagnation sometimes calls for a radical change.
Think of it as my rebranding, if you like. Often, you need an outsider’s perspective to help you see your blind spots, to see new opportunities, to truly shake things up. I needed a new concept for my recovery, new practices, a new system.
Leading up to Roland Garros, I played a few preparation matches, (backed by not one, but two coaches). We lost the very first one… but wow, it was great—because I actually finished the match. Even if we weren’t quite “there” yet, I could already feel a progression. It felt like, okay, wow, we’re doing good work here. We’re on the right track.
And then: Roland Garros. My home turf. My favorite tournament. The first time my daughter Skaï could be with me throughout.
Maybe you saw it live. For those who didn’t, I was up against Sebastian Baez, an absolutely formidable player. The match starts, and it’s not looking good. We’re edging towards four hours on the court. I’m down in the fifth set, I’m cramping badly. A commentator said I was “dead and buried.”
And then… the crowd revs up. They’re screaming, encouraging me. It’s magic, it’s electric. And I feel this surge of energy that pushes me through to play one of the most amazing matches of my life. After months of failure, discouragement, physical pain… you can’t imagine what winning that match meant to me. I sobbed. It was just unreal.
Until the next day. When I hurt my wrist again—and had to make the terrible decision to pull out of Roland Garros. This job is nothing but highs and lows. Still, I was riding high: my wife Elina played great at Roland Garros until the end, and I was so proud to support her.
Once I got back home, I had a moment where I thought, is this it for me? Does it end here? Replaying that match against Baez, the feeling of coming to life like that, I realized: no way. I can’t live what I’ve just lived and give up now.
With my wrist busted up, I couldn’t play, but I could run. So that’s what I did: I trained however I could. I was hungry, hungry, hungry. I watched Elina play the most inspiring matches at Wimbledon, and that just filled me with even more fire. The injury was there, the pain was there, but my desire to play was bigger than all that. The win at Roland Garros, Elina, my new team, my daughter Skaï… all of that came together and gave me the energy I needed to carry me through the US Summer Swing, and this time, not just play, but win. Match after match, I felt my confidence coming back. It wasn’t all a bed of roses, but I succeeded in moving forward, and collecting some crucial wins.
The power of those wins made itself clear two weeks ago in Stockholm, when I won my 12th ATP Tour title—exactly 12 years after winning the very same one for the first time. A coincidence, but I couldn’t help feeling like it was a sign that I am going in the right direction. A week later, I played and lost at the Paris Masters. But that’s okay: I got my confidence back. And that’s what I needed to recover most.
It’s been a rollercoaster of a year, in short. But now, close to the end of 2023, I feel so full. The adversity I faced throughout those first six months made the victories even sweeter. My team and I worked so hard—and that work paid off.
I’m back in the Top 100. I’m feeling good, mentally and physically. And I’m looking forward: to setting new goals for next year, to making the most of this pre-season, to starting off 2024 on the right foot—and to sharing the journey with you all along the way.
Last week, I asked my LinkedIn followers what questions they had for me: here are the ones I felt most inspired to answer.
Drawing on your experience as an athlete, what’s one piece of advice you’d give to someone running a company?
Make it a top priority to hire good people: the team you put together is the basis for everything. And when I say “good people”, I don’t necessarily mean superstars or big, impressive personalities. When I hire someone for my own team, I try to evaluate them through the lens of delegation: is *this* the person who I feel I can trust the most with *this* responsibility? Their CV shouldn’t be everything. Meet them, talk to them, try to understand them as a person; you’ll get a better sense if they’re on the same wavelength as you. One other piece of advice that I use in my game: prioritize developing your strengths over correcting your weaknesses.
Is there something you wish you’d done differently so you could have won a Grand Slam?
I know this isn’t the answer you’re looking for, but… unfortunately not! The truth is, if I was going to win a Grand Slam, I’d have already done it. I’m proud of my achievements as a player, and I’ve come very far in this world. People call me a “tennis superstar” – and while I like to think that’s true, there are superstars, and then there are legends. (You know their names.) We live in a world that’s obsessed with “potential”. I totally get it. But there’s also something to be said for being happy with where you’re at.
What advice would you give to someone looking to get into tennis training/coaching?
Be passionate. A coach who’s passionate is a coach players want to listen to, want to follow. Develop your patience and tolerance—they’ll help ensure you really try to understand this specific needs of each athlete. Because a good coach knows how to adapt to each client rather than just applying the same “winning technique” to every single one.
If you weren’t a pro tennis player, what job would you have liked to do?
I think I’d have liked to work as a banker, or in the watchmaking industry. I like the idea of working closely with a team and developing close relationships with clients and colleagues.
Why do you think players without Grand Slam titles don’t get the recognition they deserve?
Easy one: we have an overly simplified idea of what ’success’ looks like.
What’s your biggest fear?
Oof! I think it’s a pretty common one: that something bad happens to my family or loved ones.
What’s your relationship to data? Do you just play on instinct or do you use match data to your advantage?
I do pay attention to data! Both my own and my opponents’. Trajectories, first serve percentages, net ball percentages. Knowledge is power, right?
Wait—have I just made my comeback, or am I about to retire from tennis? Based on the media coverage I’ve gotten in the last few weeks, it’s hard to tell.
Let’s set the record straight:
Yes, I lost my first two matches in the US. Yes, I then injured my wrist and had to pull out of my last match in Miami. Yes, it was disappointing, but not “devastating” or “a catastrophe” as the more sensationalist media outlets say. No, it’s not a serious injury: an inflammation and a neuro-muscular problem in my hand. An infiltration, ultrasound, and TECAR therapy should take care of it. With a little luck, expect to see me at the Monte Carlo Open two weeks from now.
No, I’m not about to retire. Far from it.
I wrote in a previous post here that as an athlete coming back from almost a year of being injured, my first priority was just to get back in the game. I know it’s not a big, sexy statement. That something more grandiose like, “I want to come back and be the best, the champion, the greatest of all time” would make for a better headline.
And sure, obviously I’d have loved to come back with a bang and win every match.
But, the reality is, after so long off the court, I expected a bit of a slow start. While a little discouraging, the truth is, I was (and still am) thrilled to be back. It sounds like BS, but I actually felt good after losing my second match in Phoenix, because I played better and felt stronger.
At the end of the day, I see my biggest competitor as myself. As long as I’m doing better than a previous version of me, it feels like a win. This comeback looks like a failure from the outside, I get it. But for me, the simple fact that I’m back and feeling good is a victory.
And that’s why I found it really disheartening to see headlines like “Is the end near for Monfils?” or “Despite the best of intentions, Gaël Monfils can’t pull it off”, etc.
You can say I played like crap, or that I messed up my comeback, fine. But don’t paint me as something I’m not—demoralized, done, ready to quit—just to get more clicks.
In short:
I’m fine, I’m recovering, nothing’s broken.
I’m sad I had to cut my US trip short, but I enjoyed the time I did spend on the court, even if it didn’t end with a trophy.
As always, I’m happy I get to enjoy some bonus time with my wife and daughter. (Skaï says hi, by the way.)
And finally, even if I’ve lost, I’m not ready to quit yet. There is always another match ahead. So as I always say, on to the next one.
Everyone should have their own list of heroes: figures who help you dream big, who give you a hunger for more, or who have blazed a trail for you. I definitely do: here are a few of the names who have inspired me on and off the court.
Arthur Ashe
Arthur Ashe is a tennis trailblazer: the first and only black male tennis player to ever win the singles title at Wimbledon, the US Open, and the Australian Open. I’m in awe of how much he had to face to get there—especially since he started playing way back in the 1960s. For me, it was so important to see someone who looked like me breaking records and beating expectations. Guys like Ashe make the seemingly impossible become possible and help fuel dreams, which for me are the starting point of every great you’ve ever heard of. On top of that, he discovered Yannick Noah! I’m inspired by how he used his achievements to lift up others, including in his work off the court as a civil rights and AIDS activist. What. A. Legend.
Michael Jordan
Like so many of you, I grew up with Michael Jordan: I have great memories of my dad watching him play on TV. He’d get so excited explaining everything to me, it was totally infectious. Jordan embodies the “epic” quality of great athletes, that amazing power they have to unite people from all walks of life. Talent aside, watching him, I was always completely hypnotized by his charisma, his humor, and his showmanship: he taught me not to be afraid to show people my personality.
Tony Parker
I’m lucky to call Tony a friend—and he’s also been a great mentor to me. I so admire the way he reinvented himself after his extraordinary basketball career: he’s got a mindset and way of thinking that’s about always moving forward, never allowing yourself to get stuck. “On to the next one” is a phrase that lives in my head every time I lose a game or hit a setback, and it’s one that Tony put there. Spending time with him makes me really excited about the possibilities for my post-tennis career: if you ever get a chance to see him talk, take it! He’s brilliant.
Thierry Henry
For me, Thierry Henry is THE football player. The scope of his career is just incredible—iconic, really. He’s the kind of player who gives you goosebumps when he plays: the speed, the skill, the determination, that unmatched ability to keep cool under pressure… And the spectacularity of some of those goals! He’s literally a game-changer. His post-football career is also one I look to for inspiration (even if I think I’d like to orient myself more towards entrepreneurship than coaching). I’m not easily starstruck, but Henry dazzles me every time we meet.
I’ve noticed people sometimes have a hard time admitting it—as if asking for help were a sign of weakness or a failure to handle things yourself. Example: ever since I started posting here and on LinkedIn, I’ve regularly gotten comments like these:
“Haha, are you really writing these yourself, Gaël?”
“Nice post, too bad it’s probably not really him.”
“OK, OK… who’s the CM I’m talking to here?”
Sorry to disappoint, guys: it’s really me! And it’s also me (not an intern) who replies to your comments 😉
But good news: you’re not entirely wrong. I don’t go it totally alone! Once a week, I work with a writing coach who helps me put my ideas in order, who teaches me how to make my sentences more fluid, and who’s helping me find my written voice.
“Ah HAH. So you ARE getting help.”
Yeah, man. And I’m not ashamed of that. 🙌🏿
In tennis (or in any professional sport), you learn fast that you don’t get anywhere completely by yourself. There’s someone who’s helping you in every part of your life, whether it’s physical, mental, nutritional… Even sponsors are a kind of help, giving you the means to dedicate more of your time and energy to your passion.
In short, you’re like a Formula 1 car: powered forward by your own force, but with that force powered by a whole pit crew.
To be a great athlete, chef, teacher, or business leader, the ability to identify your weak spots is a skill. And an even bigger one is having the humility to ask for help from those who can fill in those gaps with their expertise.
And help is all around, even if you don’t realize it. Parents, friends, partners: they encourage you, push you, support you when you’re down.
For many in my world, true success in my field is synonymous with winning a grand slam or a major tournament. In that case, for them, I’m unsuccessful. Wasted potential.
Oh well.
I think a lot of people confuse ‘success’ with a certain job, a certain title, a certain salary, a certain follower count, a certain level of fame, whatever. But there are enough examples of miserable CEOs, millionaires, Oscar winners, and Grand Slam champions out there that makes it obvious (to me) that there’s a lot more to it than that.
It’s kind of like “luxury”. Luxury means something different to everyone. For some, it might be about having a seven-figure bank account and staying in fancy hotels. For others, it might be about having tons of free time to do what they love. For another person, luxury might be as simple as taking a cab to the airport.
In my case, I measure my own “success” not necessarily on the Majors I win or lose, but on the emotions I feel on a day-to-day basis.
Am I excited to wake up in the morning, see my family, and greet a new day? Check. ✅
Do I feel a sense of contentment—like my life is full and that I’m happy with what I have? Check. ✅
Do I feel an inner fire—the feeling that I want to do the things on my to-do list, versus that I have to do them? Check. ✅
As long as I’m feeling these feelings, I certainly feel successful.
Measuring success in this way—through emotions rather than achievements—seems like the right way to go for me.
Why? Because it leaves room for the fact that success is fluid. Evolving. A living thing whose shape can (and should) change as your life, values, and priorities do.
And you? How do you define success and when do you feel it?
It’s finally time. The moment I’ve been waiting for is just around the corner.
Soon, I’m playing in my first tournament since my injury. (And my first tournament as a dad!) I’m incredibly excited and energized, and I’m trying to focus on that feeling. But I’ll be honest with you: I’m a little scared.
That’s hard to admit as an athlete. We’re taught that showing any sign of fear or vulnerability is a weakness because our opponent might use it to their advantage. (Here’s hoping my opponents aren’t following me here on this blog 😂)
But if being injured for so long has taught me anything, it’s humility—along with more acceptance around the fact that I’m human. And that’s not a weakness. (In fact, I think letting people see that side of you more often is a strength.)
Back to my upcoming tournament. Like I said, I’m so looking forward to the sensation of stepping back onto the court and playing the game I love for real. The energy of the crowd. The adrenaline of it all.
But I’m also full of apprehension… how will my foot hold up? What if it’s not fully healed and I mess it up again playing? (Yes, I’ve been training—but training matches are one thing. Real games are a lot more intense.) And then of course there’s that little part of me that’s worried about worrying: what if I’m so stressed about all this that it interferes with my concentration?
In moments like these, all you can do is a) simply accept the worries without trying to deny them and b) focus on the present. (Probably advice that can be applied to way more than just tennis. 😉) I do a lot of visualization, too, trying to give more of my attention to what excites me.
Another thing that helps is being flexible with my goals. It’s easy to feel like you always need to set a higher goal than the one before. That it’s unacceptable to shoot for anything less. My goal before getting injured was… to be the best! To get my highest ranking ever! To break all my previous records! I still want those things, of course. But it’s important to recognize which goals are right for where you’re really at right now, and be humble enough to adjust them to that truth.
Right now, my truth is that I’m an athlete coming back from an injury, and so my goal is simply to make a good, safe comeback. Rebuild my confidence. Rediscover my groove. I could talk a big talk about how I’m not worried at all, how I’m going to be #1, how I’m determined to show you all that I’m a big winner. But I think it’s a lot more inspiring to dare to show you my vulnerabilities.
In sports as in life, joy and pain come together as a package. See you on the court!
You may think my full-time job is “tennis player”. I’d argue my real full-time job is actually “company director.”
Being a pro athlete is not a one-man show. It’s an enterprise. You’re backed by a whole team of people working towards a goal: to ensure you’re at your best, so you can be the best.
Come game time, yes, it’s only your hand or your foot that scores the points, and so it’s only you who gets all the glory. But those winning points are really a culmination of the work of many people behind the scenes.
On my team, I’ve got two tennis coaches. A physical trainer. A mental coach. A physical therapist. A community manager. A graphic designer. A video editor. Writing coaches. An agent. An assistant. It’s truly like being the CEO of a small company—except it’s the employees who give the orders, set the goals, and review my performance. 😂
I think part of the reason I’m interested in corporate entrepreneurship is because I feel like I’m already doing it every day, both in the role of leader and team member.
On one hand, I’m a manager: overseeing budgets, helping set expectations for my team, checking in regularly, pushing them to do their best, encouraging engagement and creativity, working on my own HR skills to make sure everyone is happy at work…
On the other hand, I’m their employee: trusting their expertise, pursuing the goals they set for me, and following their instructions. (Yes, coach, I did the drills.)
It’s pretty satisfying: a collaboration in the truest sense of the word. My foot is on the gas, their hands are on the wheel. They nourish me, I nourish them.
And like any organization, we’ve got a company culture with our own set of values. (Though I’ve never explicitly defined them, I’d say they’re: good energy, active involvement, and directness.) I can instinctively feel when someone fits the culture: some might call it “assessing organizational fit”, but I just call it “feeling the vibe”. 🔥 And when someone new joins the team, I and the other people on my team help ‘onboard’ them—whether that’s setting up dinner, inviting them to a training session, or just getting to know them on video chat.
And as in any company, sometimes, there are tough discussions, but even those are enriching to me: I learn something every time.
Who knows—maybe my future is in the corporate world 😉
