David Senra

I'm lying on the floor beside the bed.

I remember now.

I moved from the bed to the floor in the middle of the night.

I do that most nights.

Better for my back.

i count to three then start the long difficult process of standing with a cough a groan i roll onto my side then curl into the fetal position then flip over onto my stomach i'm a young man relatively speaking thirty-six

But I wake as if I'm 96.

After three decades of sprinting, stopping on a dime, jumping high and landing hard, my body no longer feels like my body, especially in the morning.

Consequently, my mind doesn't feel like my mind.

Upon opening my eyes, I'm a stranger to myself.

I run quickly through the basic facts.

My name is Andre Agassi.

My wife's name is Steffi Graf.

We have two children, a son and a daughter, five and three.

We live in Las Vegas, Nevada, but currently reside in a suite at the Four Seasons Hotel in New York City because I'm playing in the 2006 U.S.

Open, my last U.S.

Open.

In fact, my last tournament ever.

I play tennis for a living, even though I hate tennis.

Hate it with a dark and secret passion and always have.