#Athlete challenges

[newsepick]

Meet man who played with Tendulkar, represented India in World Cup, quit cricket to become actor, made debut with Sanjay Dutt,

Salil Ankola, a former Indian cricketer who played alongside Sachin Tendulkar and represented India in the 1996 World Cup, faced numerous challenges after retiring from cricket due to a tumor. He ventured into Bollywood, debuting with Sanjay Dutt, but struggled with alcohol addiction, leading to personal and financial issues, including a divorce. Despite these challenges, he found work in television with roles in popular series. Ankola's journey highlights the ups and downs faced by athletes transitioning to new careers.

[littlepawz]

“When she applied to run in the Boston Marathon in 1966 they rejected her saying: “Women are not physiologically able to run a marathon, and we can’t take the liability.” Then exactly 50 years ago today, on the day of the marathon, Bobbi Gibb hid in the bushes and waited for the race to begin. When about half of the runners had gone past she jumped in. She wore her brother’s Bermuda shorts, a pair of boy’s sneakers, a bathing suit, and a sweatshirt. As she took off into the swarm of runners, Gibb started to feel overheated, but she didn’t remove her hoodie. “I knew if they saw me, they were going to try to stop me,” she said. “I even thought I might be arrested.” It didn’t take long for male runners in Gibb’s vicinity to realize that she was not another man. Gibb expected them to shoulder her off the road, or call out to the police. Instead, the other runners told her that if anyone tried to interfere with her race, they would put a stop to it. Finally feeling secure and assured, Gibb took off her sweatshirt. As soon as it became clear that there was a woman running in the marathon, the crowd erupted—not with anger or righteousness, but with pure joy, she recalled. Men cheered. Women cried. By the time she reached Wellesley College, the news of her run had spread, and the female students were waiting for her, jumping and screaming. The governor of Massachusetts met her at the finish line and shook her hand. The first woman to ever run the marathon had finished in the top third.”

[steveyockey]

the best part of challengers is how they’re all barely 32 if that and it’s like listen my better years are behind me. my wife will shoot me like a dog if I don’t make it to semis this season

[tarotofbadkitties]

"Tashi loves tennis" is...not my favorite phrase. Not when it's used to mean she doesn't love the men with whom she engages in sexual and romantic relationships and simply uses them as an avatar for her professional desires. The idea a version of Tashi that did not love Art or Patrick slept with them in order to feel close to success has nasty "slept her way to the top" implications for me. This line of reasoning downplays her ability to accomplish making space for herself in tennis without needing to do so through her sexuality. A variety of roles in that world were available to Tashi, none of which required sleeping with Art, much less Patrick. It's much more likely that being Art's wife made it more not less difficult for Tashi to get the respect she deserved from the sports world. There's no such thing as a male-dominated field that respects women more not less for sleeping with powerful men in that industry.

Tashi chose to be with Art because she loved him. She made this decision in spite of the fact it would complicate their coach-athlete relationship and the fact that it would lead to people underestimating her. Tennis is incredibly central to both of their lives; their mutual love of tennis is literally what causes them to fall for each other in the first place. The first time Tashi hears about Art is when she joins the Stanford tennis program and the first time she sees him is when he's playing in the Junior Open. The first time Art sees Tashi is when he's watching her win the Junior Open. The tournament in Cincinnati is where they reunite after college. All of their major relationship landmarks are intertwined with landmarks in their tennis careers because it's a SHARED passion. That shared passion is also what holds them together when other aspects of their life are floundering. It's also what brings Patrick back into their lives repeatedly, because he's out there hanging onto this thing he loves that brings him back to the people he loves too.

[bibibusinessman]

gym rats and athletes of tumblr how many pushups can you do? Also open to couch potatoes

[stuckinapril]

It’s never overstated to me when people are like “work out bc it makes you feel better” bc it literally does. I think what I used to get hung up on is making the perfect schedule / wanting to know what I was doing right away. But it’s also okay to flounder at first and experiment w things and figure out what works for you and your body. The important thing is you’re starting out bc your body really will thank you for it later down the line. You cannot keep pushing it off it will add up

[unbfacts]

[luvz-me]

model reader getting booked for a sports campaign with patrick. receiving the phone call from your agent and not even taking a break to think before exclaiming yes.

you get to set, some secluded tennis court, and are immediately ushered to the hair&makeup chair. the team is blabbering about how patrick zweig is always late but praise you for being punctual. saying you've never heard that name would be a lie, but you just never really paid attention to sports. hell, high school physical education was your least favorite subject and you'd rather watch a movie than sit through a full game of... well whatever.

they style you in a cute little white tennis dress with a pleated skirt and a fitted bodice, make you put some white socks and white sneakers on before sending you over to the court under scorching hot sun. you greet the photographer and the creative director who explain the entire vibe of the shoot.

they do a couple test shots while waiting for the main star of the shoot before sitting down on a chair and asking everyone else if the guy is always late. they confirmed and all you could do was sigh and make small talk as you waited.

just as you're about to ask the photographer if he's sure patrick is coming, you see a figure approaching from afar, walking calmly towards you all, making a half-assed apology about how traffic was chaos.

you get up and notice him eyeing you up and down before smiling and introducing himself with a wolfish grin "guess you're gonna be my partner today huh" you cant help bit feel slightly intimidated but you brush it off, following the photographers commands

"remember, this shoot is all about selling not only the clothes but tennis as a sport. and sex sells, so give us that." the man holding the camera explained, earning a loud chuckle from patrick

following the photographer's instructions you both walked over to the net, posing with the rackets.

you feel patrick’s presence beside you, his confidence overbearing. you try to match his energy, holding the racket with a seductive smile. the camera clicks and flashes a couple times capturing you, still separated.

the photographer instructs patrick to move closer to the net, almost to lean against it and to place a hand on your waist. his touch sends a shiver down your spine, but you maintain your composure, keeping the playful yet alluring expression on your face. “perfect,” the photographer praises, urging you both to hold the pose.

patrick leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “you’re good at this,” he murmurs, and you can’t help but blush. you respond with a soft laugh, “just doing my job.”

you were used to this. co-workers flirting with you on set just to get invited out and then see them months later at a casting. not that you didn't take part in the banter but at this point, patrick made you wait for so long in the sun that he had to do better to get your full attention.

“okay, let’s take a break for an outfit change,” the creative director announces. you head back to the dressing room, where they hand you another outfit, this one more daring. it’s a shorter skirt, tighter top, and a visor to shield your eyes from the sun.

as you change, you think about patrick’s flirtatious comments. he's hot but he’s going to have to step up his game, literally. you step back onto the court, feeling the new outfit accentuate every curve enhancing your confidence

patrick is already there, waiting. he’s changed into shorts, and a t-shirt hung from his shoulders, showing off his athletic build. he looks you up and down, a spark of appreciation in his eyes. “looking good,” he says with a smirk.

“thanks,” you reply, giving him a coy smile.

the photographer and creative director reposition you both for the next set of shots. this time, the poses are more intimate, emphasizing physical connection. the photographer instructs patrick to stand behind you, his arms around you as if guiding your swing. his arms flexing against you

his warmth radiating through the thin fabric of your clothes. his hands are firm on your waist, guiding you through the motion of a tennis swing. “keep your eye on the ball,” he whispers, his lips brushing your ear.

you can feel your heart racing, but you keep your focus, following the photographer’s commands. the camera clicks.

“great job, you two. now let’s try something a bit more daring and then we can wrap this up”

the photographer tells patrick to sit on the ground, his back against the net, legs slightly apart. you are instructed to straddle his lap, your legs on either side of his hips, your bodies pressed close together.

patrick instinctively places his hands on your waist, pulling you even closer as you lean into him. your hands rest on his shoulders for balance, and the photographer asks you to tilt your head slightly, exposing your neck. patrick’s eyes follow the curve of your neck, his gaze intense and smoldering.

“perfect,” the photographer says, snapping several shots. “now, let’s add the racket for some dynamic action.”

you pick up the racket and hold it with one hand, resting it on patrick’s shoulder. patrick’s hands slide down your waist to your hips, his grip firm. his eyes lock onto yours.

“beautiful. now, patrick, lean in as if you’re about to kiss her neck,” the photographer instructs.

patrick’s lips hover just above your skin, his breath warm against your neck. you can feel the tension building, the proximity and the anticipation adding to the intensity of the shoot. you tilt your head further, giving the camera a sultry look, lips slightly parted. one of your hands on his chest, slowly travelling down his abs. just for the shot you thought to yourself.

you had to keep reminding yourself this was just a job. only a job. strictly a job.

“fantastic! let’s get a few more shots like this.”

patrick’s hands slide up your back, holding you close as you both follow the photographer’s commands. you feel his fingers slipping under the hem of your top, each pose is more intimate than the last, the line between professional and personal blurring.

finally, the photographer calls for a wrap. you and patrick stay in the pose for a moment longer, the energy between you almost tangible. you pull away and earn a groan of disappointment from him. you walk back to the dressing room and chugging from a water bottle. and briefly look back to see zweig adjusting his boner. you giggle to yourself.

suddenly, you hear hurried footsteps behind you, and you turn to see patrick catching up.

“you were incredible,” he says, his voice low and genuine, but there's a hint of cockiness in his tone. he runs a hand through his hair, trying to compose himself.

“thanks,” you reply, smiling, feeling a rush of heat from his compliment.

“give me your number. i need to see you again, outside of this shoot.”

you raise an eyebrow, “you athletes always this forward with the models you work with?” you ask, a smirk playing on your lips. "i'm not gonna fuck you just because we did all that back there."

patrick chuckles, not missing a beat. “aw.. why not?” he replies forcing a pleading look. he notices when you start to walk away "oh my god that was a joke.." it wasn't. "come on.."

"sorry, but i don't fall for the 'athlete charm' that easily," you retort with a grin "but alright, ill give you my number" just out of boredom, you thought. nothing else (liar!) "i walk for Versace tomorrow and i'll be at the afterparty so i won't be able to go out" saying this just to make sure he doesn't get his hopes up

patrick's grin widens, his eyes smoldering with determination. "oh i'll be there, donatella is friends with my mother" he promises, his voice low. "can't wait to see you strut your stuff on that runway."

is he trying to outwit you? of fucking course a professional tennis player like him had to have insanely rich parents. "okay, um... see you there then" you smile trying to hide your annoyance "you have to wait till the after party to see me"

"oh, i'm patient," he murmurs, stepping closer until you can feel the heat radiating off him. "but when that afterparty starts…" his voice trails off suggestively, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

your breath catches as his hand ghosts over yours, sending tingles up your arm. "alright well, i need to change and get home, so excuse me" you say regaining composure "maybe i'll let you buy me a drink at the afterparty," you say with a sly smile

patrick chuckles softly behind you "looking forward to it," he replies, his tone carrying a promise of what's to come.

tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.

fashion week is in full swing, with models, designers, and makeup artists all working in a synchronized dance.

the show goes off without a hitch, and you feel a rush of adrenaline as you strut down the runway, the flashing lights, applause and upbeat music boosting your confidence, posing for a few seconds at the end of it before walking back backstage and getting in line again to close the show.

it's fucking chaos backstage, assistants yelling at eachother and all you can think about is the afterparty. not because of patrick... to be honest you had forgotten about him already. like yeah he was one of the hottest guys you have ever seen but he wasn't the first to try anything and him being an athlete wasn't helping his case. you weren't trying to become a WAG so soon being that you're a promising new face. he also hadn't texted after exchanging numbers.

scratch that completely because the moment you even thought about him texting you you hear the faint sound of the notification from your purse. you dig your hand in and pull out a bunch of things - earphones, a pack of gum, cigarettes... messy girl - before finally grabbing your phone.

patrick: front row at the show. you should just bring that dress to the after party, save time ;)

of course he had to type like that. asshole. you huff and throw your phone back inside your cluttered bag, hurriedly changing into your night outfit. a white corset top alongside some black leather lace up shorties, black tights and some slightly heeled boots. you decided to keep your hair as is, because who would want to waste a professionally done hair-do? you didn't dare to change the makeup either. a black smokey eye was perfect for the event.

you leave the venue for the show hurriedly, saying goodbye to all your friends as you hail a cab back to your model apartment. you drop your bag there before hailing yet another cab to go to the afterparty.

the place was so luxurious you almost felt out of place until you saw some of your friends. you rush over to them, your faces lighting up as you embrace, laughter and excited chatter filling the air. you hang out for a bit before you walk off to the bar, promising to find them by the dance floor later.

you're about to ask the bartender for a mojito when you feel the warmth of a hand on your shoulder, fingers reaching to caress the curve of your neck. you turn back abruptly almost blurting out a "what do you think you're doi-" before cutting yourself off upon seeing who it was.

patrick stands there, his trademark grin in place. "i said i'd pay for the damn drink yesterday, or did you forget?" he teases "anyway" slightly guiding you to move out of the way "a whiskey sour and a...?"

"mojito." you repeat in annoyance "actually ask for 2 already" if he was gonna buy you a drink and startle you like that he might as well double it

"aight," he replies, never once letting go of that grin. aight, you repeat in your head, forcing yourself not to mock him. you have to be nice, he just got you two drinks. at once even.

patrick hands you the mojitos and gestures towards the dark leather couches in the corner. "let's take a seat," he suggests, his eyes twinkling with that same mischievous energy.

you follow him to the couches sitting down, the soft leather sinking under your weight.

"busy girl didn't even answer my text. nice shorts" he quips, almost cornering you

"you knew i was coming.. why would i answer?" you say softly batting your lashes and sipping from the straw, seemingly unamused by his attempts at getting closer

you roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips despite your best efforts to maintain composure when he doesn't divert his gaze. "flattery won't get you anywhere, zweig."

"who said anything about flattery?" patrick counters, his voice low. "i'm just stating the obvious."

you arch an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance. "yeah, for a pro athlete you don't seem very good at the straightforwardness thing." giggling and cutting through the tension "watch my drink for me"

patrick grins, watching you as you slide off the couch and head to the dance floor. he remains seated, his eyes following your every move with an amused expression. you lose yourself in the music for a while with your girl friends exchanging the newest gossip

"ugh, i don't know, he's obviously super hot and is into me but..." you say over the music, your voice almost cracking trying to make your friends hear you. they scold you saying it's patrick fucking zweig, telling you to let loose, and to go for it. you dance to one more song before dipping "i'm thirsty, gonna go back to grab my drink"

you strut towards patrick once again, who's lounging comfortably on the couch, his arms sprawled, eyes never leaving you. his fingers fidget with a pack of lucky strikes, a cigarette hanging from his lips. seeing your glance, he wordlessly hands you one, his lighter already poised, but a stressed employee interrupts with a warning that smoking inside is forbidden unless you use the smoking area.

patrick swiftly rises, grabbing your hand without a word and leading you towards the door. as he opens it, revealing a crowded smoking area typical of a fashion event, he smirks to himself, feeling one step closer to his goal.

"so, guess we have to brave the cold outside... or," patrick suggests with a playful glint in his eye, "we could head back to my place."

"your place sounds warmer" you concede, slipping your hand into his

outside, you find his van waiting discreetly in the shadows, slightly shielded from the prying eyes of the paparazzi. you duck behind patrick as he opens the door, cameras catch a glimpse of you both. once inside, the atmosphere shifts, the air thick with anticipation. he's gleeful once he realizes his stupid plan worked, cig still dancing on his lips he gets the pack of lucky strikes and places it back. zweig instructs his driver to go.

his hands playfully pull at the thin fabric of your thighs during the whole drive, sliding up and down to the hem of your shorts. your breath hitches, scooting his hand away a few times, trying to be discreet but his banter with the driver isn't helping your case at all.

the car finally stops by a luxurious apartment complex, he grabs your hand again and leads you off the car into the elevator. clicking on floor number 5 and frantically pressing the closing doors button. you lean back on the cold steel surface, eyeing him up and down with a smile "had to drag me back to your place for a smoke huh? addiction is a bitch zweig"

patrick takes a step towards you, cupping your face "such a smarty pants you are" he mocks in a higher tone before leaning down and pressing his lips to yours. you quickly oblige, parting them and letting him in. the kiss is full of pent up tension, his hand cheekily squeezing your ass as the elevator door opens "come."

he slams the door open dragging you inside, almost making you trip. the moment the door clicks shut, he pushes you against it, his body pressing into yours taking a second to admire you. the rustle of his jacket coming off snapping you out of it.

"thought we were only coming here to smoke?" you raise an eyebrow, voice barely above a whisper

"oh fuck you" he murmurs against your lips, his voice husky. a smile creeping in. patrick wasn't used to your attitude at all

"i know you want to" softly reaching for his hair, pulling it just enough so he hisses and before you know it you're thrown over his shoulder squealing and being dropped onto the bed. his body now looming over yours, hands slipping under your top, pushing it up and over your head. no bra.

his eyes rake over your bare skin, fingers caressing your nipples, a whimper leaving your mouth. back arching hoping to feel as much of him as you could. tugging at his shirt he smirks and leans back to take it off. eyes following his happy trail

patrick leaves a trail of kisses on your torso leading to your shorts, untying them with his teeth and then slowly pulling them off your legs revealing some black panties "you dont even know the amount of restraint i had not to fucking jack off on set in between the wardrobe changes. couldn't stop thinking about your body on mine"

"yeah?" you reach for his pants unbuttoning them

"fuck yeah, open that mouth up f'me don't be greedy" pressing his fingers on your cheeks and spitting into it. lightly slapping you when you swallow with a smile "holy shit.. "

your eyes widen when he just takes everything off. you sit up and patrick takes no time to grab a fistful of your hair guide his cock to your lips "now you're gonna be good and take it" he commands. you lick around the tip, cupping his balls, eyes on his and slowly begin to move back and forth when he just pushes your head in on his hairy crotch. eyes filling with tears as you gag on it. he groans, his hand tightening in your hair as he thrusts deeper into your throat

after a few intense moments, he pulls back, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his shaft. he smirks down at you, wiping the saliva away with his thumb. "fuck you're better than i ever imagined"

you could cum right then and there at the sight

he pulls you up, flipping you onto your stomach and you just arch back out of instinct, your ass wiggling against him. extending your arms on the bed, almost stretching. you feel his hands on your hips, pulling down your panties, leaving you completely exposed. he spits and spreads it with his thumb, caressing your puckering hole all the way until he reaches your pussy. lowering himself and licking a generous strip of it. "please" you bite your lip, your pride battling with your desire. but the ache between your legs wins. "please, patrick. fuck me."

"so fucking wet for me" his voice hoarse

he thrusts into you with a force that makes you gasp, filling you completely. he sets a relentless pace, his hands gripping your hips as he pounds into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the room. "so good" you mewl gripping the sheets

your moans mix with his, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak. you can feel every inch of him, the roughness of his thrusts, the way he hits that perfect spot inside you over and over.

he reaches around, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing it in time with his thrusts. the combination sends you over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you, your walls clenching around him.

with a final, deep thrust, he follows you over the edge, his hot release filling you. "i love this tight pussy of yours" he collapses onto you, both of you breathing heavily, the room filled with the scent of sex. he lingers inside for a while, until he catches his breath and pulls out.

you slowly turn and lay on your back reaching for your aching slit and bringing one of your fingers to your mouth, tasting him as he gazes with his mouth wide open

"you're gonna fucking kill me" he says, still out of breath

"you asked for it" you grin at his words, feeling a rush of satisfaction. "and here i thought athletes had the stamina to keep up," you tease, your voice breathy.

"whatever,” he begins, “time for the smoke break” he reaches for his nightstand, grabbing the pack of lucky strikes and his lighter handing you one.

[devinwolfi]

Challengers (2024) | Ted Lasso 3.02

[californiannostalgia]

everyone who took tashi extremely literally when she told patrick he can go crawl back to his rich parents for money any time he wants is misreading patrick's situation (tashi has resentment and derision for rich white boys, in case that wasn't clear)

you think a guy raised rich doesn't know the comforts of money? you think he's performing the cracked phone, the shit car, the people rapping on the window waking you up, labeling you undesirable? you think any human person would voluntarily choose the dehumanization of poverty?

he's the starving artist archetype. either he gives up tennis or he gives up money. he gave up money because yeah, questionable life choices, and he fucking revels in the freedom to choose them. (also he's obsessed with tennis but don't tell him that.)

but genuinely. there is a reason people will not go to their own parents when they are at the brink of bankruptcy. and I don't know how to explain this if you already don't understand, but there is always a good reason when you're avoiding parents who can give you monetary security.

[hesitantpixels]

no introductory post this time!! i’m once again doing the nightmare legacy challenge!!

[nicollekidman]

art cares about something enough to push and break and heal and push and break and heal and it isn’t tennis!

[wisteriasymphony]

kagami with #53 Penny Lane for the color palette

KAGAMI MY SWEETIE PIE!

[guy60660]

Prince Albert Challenge Cup | Cambridge University

[cuterefaction]

I'm not normally all that in to boxing, but after all the bloody drama they've had to endure this olympics I'm hoping Imane Khelif and Lin Yu-ting have a good finals run.

[3416]

Mitch Marner for NFL Big Man vs. Hockey vs. Lacrosse challenge! | 10.24.23