At 70, tennis icon Chris Evert reflects on a life that has spanned from the intense solitude of professional sports to the profound connections of motherhood and mentorship. Her journey reveals how the most challenging chapters often yield the deepest wisdom, transforming a champion athlete into a beacon of resilience.
Evert's relationship with tennis began when she was just eight years old, marking the start of a remarkable three-decade journey in the sport. By 18, she had turned professional, and for the next 16 years, her world revolved entirely around the next match, the next tournament, the next victory. This singular focus, while necessary for success in an individual sport, came at a significant personal cost that would take years to fully understand.
The inherent selfishness required in tennis eventually wore on her spirit in ways she couldn't articulate until later. Unlike team sports where responsibilities are shared and victories are collective, individual athletes must center every decision around their own performance, training, nutrition, and mental preparation. Every relationship, every schedule, every choice must serve the ultimate goal of winning. By 1989, at 34, Evert was ready to close this chapter permanently. While many athletes struggle with the transition away from professional competition, experiencing loss of identity and purpose, she embraced it wholeheartedly. For her, retirement wasn't an ending but a long-awaited beginning to a more expansive life.
The concept of retiring in one's 30s might seem foreign to most people who work into their 60s or beyond, but for Evert, it represented freedom in its purest form. She had sacrificed normal teenage experiences, social development, and personal exploration for the demands of tennis. Now, she could reclaim those lost opportunities and discover who she was beyond the baseline. Her priority shifted dramatically and immediately toward starting a family and building a different kind of legacy.
Within five years, Evert welcomed three sons into the world. Motherhood became her new center of gravity, bringing a joy that contrasted sharply with the pressure-cooker environment of professional tennis. The unconditional love of a child bore no resemblance to the conditional admiration of spectators. When people approached her about comebacks or participating in World TeamTennis, her answer remained consistent and firm: no. Every moment belonged to her children, and she had no regrets about that choice.
Financial security from her tennis career provided something more precious than any trophy: choice. She didn't need to work for income, allowing her to be fully present as a parent in a way many cannot afford. Her marriage to Olympic downhill skier Andy Mill lasted two decades, and together they built comfortable lives in Boca Raton—her childhood home—and Aspen, his native ground. This period represented stability, comfort, and the simple pleasures of family life that had been impossible during her playing days.
Yet Evert never fully left the tennis world, nor did it leave her. The Women's Tennis Association maintained strong connections with its legends, creating a sisterhood that transcended competition and endured through the years. Her relationships with former rivals like Martina Navratilova, Monica Seles, and Pam Shriver evolved into genuine friendships built on mutual respect and shared experience. Billie Jean King, the pioneer who opened doors for women in tennis, remained a cherished confidante and guiding presence.
Mentoring emerged as her new calling and primary connection to the sport she once dominated. Shortly after retirement, she and her brother John established the Evert Tennis Academy in Boca Raton. While her young children demanded most of her attention initially, she gradually increased her presence at the academy as they grew. By the time her sons were more independent, she found herself there daily, guiding young athletes—especially women—through the unique pressures of competitive tennis.
Her mentorship drew from deep wells of experience that went far beyond stroke technique. Having navigated countless high-stakes matches, intense public scrutiny, and the psychological warfare of elite competition, she possessed invaluable insights about managing stress and maintaining mental fortitude. Young players sought her advice not just on how to hit a better backhand, but on how to survive the psychological demands of life as a professional athlete. This role proved unexpectedly fulfilling, allowing her to give back while staying connected to her sport in a meaningful way.
At 55, with her children grown and her marriage ended, Evert sought new purpose and structure. Television commentary provided that anchor. The role kept her engaged with professional tennis while offering flexibility she hadn't enjoyed as a player. She could share her expertise with millions of viewers without the travel demands and physical toll of her playing days. It was the perfect balance of involvement and independence.
For years, this life—part mentor, part commentator, part tennis elder—felt complete and satisfying. She had successfully transitioned from self-focused athlete to nurturing guide, from competitor to wise observer. Her days were full, her contributions meaningful, her legacy secure. She had found a rhythm that honored her past while embracing her present.
Then came the diagnosis that would reshape everything she thought she knew about strength and survival.
Cancer arrived as an uninvited teacher, forcing Evert to confront her own mortality and vulnerability in ways that tennis never had. The disease doesn't care about your Grand Slam titles, your perfect backhand, or your mental toughness. It strips away all pretense, all achievements, leaving only the essential self. The opponent across the net could be studied, strategized against, and defeated through skill and will. Cancer was different.
The battle with cancer became a crucible of transformation. Where tennis had taught her about physical endurance and mental toughness, cancer taught her about surrender, acceptance, and the profound strength found in vulnerability. The same woman who had once controlled every aspect of her athletic preparation—down to the smallest detail—now faced an opponent that couldn't be defeated through training or willpower alone. She had to learn a new kind of strength.
This experience offered a perspective shift that decades of retirement hadn't provided. While she had left behind the selfishness of professional sports, cancer taught her something deeper about interdependence and human connection. She had to rely on doctors, family, and friends in ways that felt foreign to the self-reliant athlete she had been. She had to accept help, show weakness, and trust others with her life. The vulnerability became its own kind of strength, one she had never needed on the court.
The diagnosis also crystallized what truly mattered in a way that nothing else could. All the trophies, the prize money, the accolades, the fame—while nice—paled in comparison to the simple gift of health and time with loved ones. Cancer taught her that life's most precious resources aren't earned through competition but received through grace. You can't win health like you win a tournament. You can only cherish it when you have it and fight for it when you don't.
Now, as she navigates her 70s, Evert's wisdom encompasses far more than tennis strategy. She speaks to young players about resilience not just in sport, but in life. She understands that the pressure of a championship point, while intense, is temporary and ultimately inconsequential. The real challenges often come off the court, in the quiet moments of uncertainty and fear, in the waiting rooms and recovery beds.
Her story reminds us that reinvention is possible at any age and that identity is never fixed. From teenage phenom to world champion, from devoted mother to respected mentor, from cancer patient to survivor—each transformation built upon the last, creating a richer, more complex human being. The selfishness required to become a champion eventually gave way to the selflessness of motherhood, which evolved into the generous guidance of mentorship, and finally matured into the humble wisdom of survival.
The true measure of a life isn't in the titles won but in the lessons shared and the lives touched. Evert's legacy now includes not just her 18 Grand Slam singles championships, but the countless young players she's guided, the viewers she's enlightened, and the cancer patients she inspires simply by showing up and sharing her story. Her vulnerability has become her greatest strength.
At 70, Chris Evert stands as proof that life's most difficult opponents—whether across the net or within our own bodies—can become our greatest teachers. The wisdom gained from three decades in tennis provided the foundation, but the insight gained from facing mortality gave her the depth and compassion that define her today. Together, they create a perspective that transcends sport, speaking to anyone navigating their own transitions, challenges, or search for meaning.
Her journey continues, not on the court, but in the hearts of those she touches with her story—a story of ambition, love, service, and ultimately, survival against the toughest opponent of all.