Ivan Lendl: The Life Story Behind Tennis' Iron Man

Ivan Lendl did not smile much on a tennis court. He did not joke, he did not chat with the crowd, and he did not show his feelings. He hit the ball harder than anyone else, he ran further than anyone else, and he practised longer than anyone else, and he won more than almost anyone else. He was called the Iron Man, and the Machine, and the Terminator, and the names fit him, because he played tennis like a man who had turned himself into a machine, a machine built for one purpose: to win. He won eight Grand Slam singles titles, he was the world number one for 270 weeks, and he reached the final of the US Open eight years in a row, a record that has never been matched. And he did it all with a face that rarely changed, and a game that never gave his opponents a moment of rest.

His story begins in Ostrava, in Czechoslovakia, where both of his parents were fine tennis players, and where he grew up with a racket in his hand and a belief that hard work was the only thing that mattered. It is a story of a boy who left his country to find freedom, of a young man who was hated by crowds for his coldness, of a champion who changed the way tennis is played, by bringing fitness, diet, and science to a game that had once been about talent alone, and of a man who never won Wimbledon, the one prize he wanted most, and who learned, late in life, to help another man win it instead.

This is the life of Ivan Lendl, the iron man, the machine, and, in the end, the teacher.

Ostrava: Born to Tennis Parents

Ivan Lendl was born on 7 March 1960 in Ostrava, Czechoslovakia, a city in the industrial heart of the country, where the air was thick with smoke from the steelworks, and where life was hard and disciplined. His father, Jiri Lendl, was a fine tennis player who had played for Czechoslovakia, and his mother, Olga, was also a fine player who had been one of the best women in the country. Tennis was not a hobby in the Lendl home. It was a way of life, and young Ivan grew up on the courts, watching his parents play, and learning the game from the moment he could hold a racket.

He was a serious child, and he was a hard worker, and he did not have the easy charm of some young players. He was tall, and he was strong, and he hit the ball with a power that surprised older players, but he was also quiet, and he kept his feelings to himself, and he practised with a focus that made coaches notice him. He played junior tournaments in Czechoslovakia and in Europe, and he won them, and by the time he was eighteen, he was one of the best young players in the world, a boy who had been raised for the game, and who was ready to take it on.

In 1978, he turned professional, and he began to play on the world tour, travelling to tournaments in Europe and in America, and learning how hard the professional game could be. He was still a teenager, and he was far from home, and he was playing against men who were older and stronger, but he did not complain, and he did not give up. He worked, and he improved, and he climbed the rankings, and by the early 1980s, he was one of the best players in the world, a young man with a big forehand, a strong serve, and a determination that frightened his opponents.

He also began to think about leaving Czechoslovakia, because the country was ruled by a communist government, and because the life of a professional tennis player, travelling the world and earning money, did not fit easily with the rules of that government. He wanted freedom, and he wanted to control his own life, and in 1982, he moved to the United States, to Connecticut, and he began a new life there, a life that would make him one of the most famous tennis players in the world, and one of the most controversial.

The Machine: Fitness, Diet, and a New Kind of Tennis

Lendl changed tennis in a way that few players ever have, because he was the first player to treat the game as a science, and to train his body with the same seriousness that he trained his shots. Before Lendl, tennis players did not train very hard. They played, they practised, and they went home. Lendl ran, he lifted weights, he worked on his fitness, and he followed a strict diet, eating carefully, and avoiding the foods that would slow him down. He was, in the words of many people at the time, the fittest player in the game, and his fitness gave him an advantage that no one else had: he could play long matches, in the heat, and still hit the ball as hard in the fifth set as he had in the first.

He also changed the way the game was played. He hit his forehand with topspin, a shot that made the ball dip and jump, and that was hard for his opponents to handle, and he played from the baseline, hitting the ball hard and deep, and wearing his opponents down, point by point, game by game. He did not come to the net very often, and he did not play with touch, but he did not need to, because his power was enough. He was a machine, and the machine did not stop, and the machine did not feel sorry for anyone. Opponents knew that to beat Lendl, they would have to play the best tennis of their lives, for hours, and most of them could not do it.

He was also a man who kept his feelings hidden, and who did not show joy when he won, or sadness when he lost, and the crowds did not like it. They called him cold, and boring, and robotic, and they cheered for his opponents, even when his opponents were less talented, because they wanted to see the machine beaten. Lendl did not care, or he pretended not to care, and he kept winning, and he kept his face the same, and the winning was its own reward. He was not playing for the crowds. He was playing for himself, and for the record books, and for the belief that hard work should be rewarded.

In 1984, he won his first Grand Slam title, at the French Open, beating John McEnroe in the final, in five sets, after losing the first two sets. It was a remarkable victory, because McEnroe was the best player in the world, and because Lendl had lost to him many times before, and because the match showed that Lendl had finally learned how to win the big matches, and how to fight back when he was losing. It was the start of a run of dominance that would last for most of the decade, and it was the moment when the machine became a champion.

Eight Grand Slams and Eight Straight US Open Finals

After the French Open victory in 1984, Lendl became the dominant player in the world. He won the French Open again in 1986 and 1987, he won the US Open in 1985, 1986, and 1987, and he won the Australian Open in 1989 and 1990, bringing his total of Grand Slam singles titles to eight. He was the world number one for 270 weeks, a total that was, at the time, a record, and he finished as the year-end number one for four years. He was, by the end of the 1980s, the most successful player of his generation, and the most feared, because no one wanted to play him, and because everyone knew how hard it would be to beat him.

His record at the US Open was extraordinary. He reached the final of the tournament eight years in a row, from 1982 to 1989, a feat that no other man has ever achieved, and he won the title three times, in 1985, 1986, and 1987. The hard courts of New York suited his game perfectly, because they were fast, and because his power was at its best on them, and because the crowds, who did not love him, made him play even harder, as if he wanted to prove them wrong. He was a player who thrived on being disliked, and the US Open, with its loud crowds and its bright lights, was the perfect stage for him.

He also played in the Masters, the year-end championship for the best eight players in the world, and he won it five times, a record that showed how consistent he was, year after year. He won more than ninety tournaments in total, and he earned more prize money than any player before him, and he did it all with a game that was built on power, and on fitness, and on a refusal to give in. He was not the most loved champion, but he was one of the most successful, and his success changed the game forever, because every young player who came after him copied his training, and his diet, and his professionalism, and the game became fitter, and stronger, and more scientific, because of him.

But for all his success, there was one tournament that he never won, and it was the one he wanted most: Wimbledon, played on grass in London, the oldest and most famous tournament in the game. He reached the final twice, in 1986 and 1987, and he lost both times, to Boris Becker and to Pat Cash, and the losses haunted him, because he had tried everything to win there, and it had not been enough.

Wimbledon: The Prize That Got Away

Lendl wanted to win Wimbledon more than anything, and he tried harder to win it than he tried to win any other tournament. He changed his schedule to play more grass-court tournaments, he practised on grass for weeks before the tournament, and he even skipped the French Open in 1990 and 1991, a tournament he had won three times, so that he could prepare properly for Wimbledon. It was a sacrifice that showed how much the title meant to him, and how far he was willing to go to win it, but it was a sacrifice that did not pay off, because he never won the title, and he never even reached the final again after 1987.

The problem was his game. He was a baseline player, a man who hit the ball hard from the back of the court, and grass is a fast surface that rewards players who come to the net, and who volley, and who serve big. Lendl could serve big, but he was not comfortable at the net, and he was not comfortable on grass, and the low bounce of the ball on grass made his topspin forehand less effective than it was on clay or on hard courts. He worked on his volley, and he worked on his movement, but the grass never loved him back, and the title that he wanted most stayed out of his reach.

He reached the semi-final at Wimbledon several times, and he lost to players who were better on grass, and he accepted the defeats with the same cold face that he showed in victory, but those who knew him understood that the losses hurt him deeply. He had won everywhere else, and he had been the best in the world, and yet the one tournament that every player dreams of winning had eluded him, and it would elude him for his whole career. It was the one gap in his record, and it was a gap that he never filled, and it is a reminder that even the greatest players have a limit, and that hard work does not always bring the prize you want most.

He also never won the Olympic gold medal, because tennis was not an Olympic sport for most of his career, and he never played in the Olympics as a professional, but that did not bother him as much as Wimbledon did. Wimbledon was the dream, and the dream did not come true, and he had to learn to live with that, as he had learned to live with the crowds who did not love him, and with the press who called him a machine. He lived with it, and he moved on, and he found, in the end, a way to win Wimbledon through another man.

America, Citizenship, and the Later Years

In 1992, Lendl became a citizen of the United States, a decision that reflected the life he had built in America, and the freedom he had found there. He had left Czechoslovakia in 1982, and he had made a home in Connecticut, and he had raised his family there, with his wife, Samantha, and their five daughters, and he had become an American in every way except on paper. The citizenship was a formal step, but it was also a personal one, because it meant that he had chosen his country, and that he had left the old one behind, and that he was, at last, free to be who he wanted to be.

He played on into the early 1990s, and he remained one of the best players in the world, but his body began to wear out, especially his back, which had troubled him for years, and which made it hard for him to play the long matches that had once been his strength. He retired in 1994, at the age of 34, after a career that had lasted sixteen years, and that had brought him eight Grand Slam titles, 270 weeks as the world number one, and a place among the greatest players in the history of the game. He walked away quietly, as he had played quietly, and he did not make a fuss about it, because fuss was never his style.

After his retirement, he lived a quiet life with his family, and he took up golf, a game that he loved, and that he played with the same seriousness that he had brought to tennis. He became a good golfer, and he played in tournaments, and he enjoyed the peace of the golf course, a peace that tennis had never given him. He also stayed close to tennis, and he watched the game change, and he watched young players copy the training methods that he had invented, and he was proud of what he had done, even if the world did not always give him the credit he deserved.

He was inducted into the International Tennis Hall of Fame, and he was honoured by the tennis world, but he remained a private man, and he did not seek the spotlight, and he was content to live quietly, with his family, and with his golf, and with the knowledge that he had been one of the best. It was a life that suited him, because he had never been a man who needed applause, and he was happy without it.

Coaching Murray: Winning Wimbledon at Last

In 2011, Lendl returned to tennis in a new role, as the coach of Andy Murray, the British player who was one of the best in the world, but who had never won a Grand Slam title, and who was known for losing finals, and for struggling under pressure. It was a surprising choice, because Lendl was known as a cold man, and Murray was known as an emotional one, but the two men understood each other, because they had both felt the pressure of a whole nation expecting them to win, and because they had both been criticised for their behaviour on the court. Lendl became Murray’s coach, and he changed Murray’s game, and he changed Murray’s mind, and the results were remarkable.

In 2012, Murray won the US Open, his first Grand Slam title, beating Novak Djokovic in the final, and he also won the Olympic gold medal in London, beating Roger Federer in the final. In 2013, Murray won Wimbledon, beating Djokovic in the final in straight sets, becoming the first British man to win the title in 77 years, and ending a drought that had haunted British tennis for generations. Lendl was in the stands, watching, and when Murray won, he smiled, a rare smile, and the whole world saw it, because it was the smile of a man who had finally won Wimbledon, not as a player, but as a coach, and who had helped another man to achieve the dream that he himself had never achieved.

He coached Murray again from 2016 to 2017, and in that time, Murray became the world number one, and won Wimbledon again, and won the year-end championship, and Lendl’s influence was clear in the way Murray played: with power, with fitness, and with a calm that he had not shown before. Lendl also coached Alexander Zverev, the young German player, for a short period, and he has worked with other players, sharing his knowledge, and his experience, and his belief that hard work is the only way to succeed. He is a coach who does not shout, and who does not praise easily, but who tells the truth, and who expects hard work, and the players who work with him respect him for it, even if they do not always love him for it.

Today, Lendl is remembered as one of the greatest players in the history of tennis, and as the man who changed the game, and as the coach who helped Murray to win Wimbledon, and his story is a reminder that a career is not only about what you win for yourself, but about what you help others to win, and that the greatest victory can come late in life, in a form you never expected.

The Rivalries: McEnroe, Becker, and Wilander

Lendl’s career was defined by his rivalries, and they were rivalries with men who were very different from him. His greatest rival was John McEnroe, the fiery American with the soft hands, and the two men played each other 36 times, with Lendl winning 21 of those matches. Their most famous match was the French Open final in 1984, when Lendl came back from two sets down to beat McEnroe in five sets, a victory that changed his career, and that showed the world that the machine could fight back. McEnroe was the artist, and Lendl was the worker, and the crowds loved McEnroe, and they disliked Lendl, and that dislike made Lendl play even harder, as if he wanted to prove them wrong.

He also had a fierce rivalry with Boris Becker, the young German who beat him in the Wimbledon final in 1986, and who played with a power and a passion that matched Lendl’s own. They played each other many times, and their matches were battles of power, with both men hitting the ball as hard as they could, and with the crowds cheering for Becker, and booing Lendl, and Lendl accepting it all with the same cold face. He respected Becker, and Becker respected him, and their rivalry was built on a mutual understanding that both men were warriors, even if they fought in different ways.

His rivalry with Mats Wilander, the clever Swede, was quieter, but it was just as important, because Wilander was a player who could out-think Lendl, and who beat him in important matches, including the US Open final in 1988. Lendl and Wilander played each other many times, and their matches were chess games, with both men trying to outsmart the other, and with the winner being the man who thought more clearly on the day. These rivalries made Lendl a better player, because they forced him to improve, and to adapt, and to find new ways to win, and they made his era one of the richest in the history of tennis.

My Take:

I think Ivan Lendl is the most important tennis player that nobody loves, and I say that because he changed the game more than almost anyone, and yet the crowds never loved him, and the press never praised him, and the history books do not always give him the credit he deserves. He was the first player to train like an athlete, to eat like an athlete, and to treat tennis as a science, and every player who came after him copied him, and the game became fitter and stronger because of him. Federer trains like Lendl. Nadal trains like Lendl. Djokovic trains like Lendl. They all owe him something, and most of them do not know it. I think that is a strange kind of greatness: to change the world, and to have the world forget that you changed it.

What I admire most about Lendl is his work ethic, and I want to talk about it, because it was extraordinary. He practised longer than anyone, he ran further than anyone, and he worked on his fitness with a seriousness that no other player had shown before. He did not rely on talent alone. He relied on work, and he believed that work would beat talent, if the work was hard enough and long enough. I think that is a lesson for all of us, because talent is a gift, and it is given to a few, but work is a choice, and it is available to everyone. Lendl chose work, and he became the best in the world because of it, and that is a message that any young person can take to heart, whether they are talented or not.

But I also have to be honest about the coldness, because it is the part of his story that makes me sad. He rarely smiled, he rarely showed joy, and he rarely let people see who he was. The crowds called him a machine, and he acted like a machine, and the machine won, but the machine did not seem happy, and I wonder if he was happy. I think about the price of that coldness, and I think it was high, because a person who never shows their feelings is a person who is lonely, even when they are winning. Lendl won more than almost anyone, but did he enjoy it? I am not sure he did, and that makes me sad, because winning should bring joy, and if it does not, then something is wrong.

The Wimbledon story is the part of his career that I think about most, because it is the story of a man who wanted one thing more than anything, and who tried everything to get it, and who never got it. He skipped the French Open to prepare for Wimbledon. He practised on grass for weeks. He changed his game. And it was not enough. I think about that when I think about my own life, and about the things I have wanted and not got, and I know how painful it is to work hard for something and to fail. Lendl failed at Wimbledon, and he had to live with that failure, and he lived with it with dignity, without blaming anyone, and without giving up. That is a kind of strength that is harder to find than the strength to win, and I respect him for it.

But the coaching story is the part that gives me hope, because it shows that a dream does not die when you fail to achieve it. Lendl never won Wimbledon as a player, but he helped Andy Murray to win it as a coach, and when Murray won, Lendl smiled, and the whole world saw a man who had finally found the joy that had eluded him as a player. I think that is a beautiful ending, and I think it teaches us that our dreams can come true in a different form than we expected, and that helping another person to achieve their dream can be just as satisfying as achieving your own. Lendl learned that lesson late, but he learned it, and I am glad he did.

I also think about his decision to leave Czechoslovakia, because it was a brave decision, and it was a decision that cost him a great deal. He left his home, his family, and his country, because he wanted freedom, and because he wanted to control his own life, and he made a new life in America, and he became a citizen, and he raised his family there. I think about all the people who leave their homes to find a better life, and about how hard that is, and about how brave it is, and I respect Lendl for doing it, even though it meant that he would never play for his own country again, and even though it meant that some people in Czechoslovakia would call him a traitor. He chose freedom, and freedom is worth the price.

If I could speak to a young player, I would tell them to copy Lendl’s work ethic, but not his coldness. I would tell them to train hard, to eat well, and to take their fitness seriously, because the game today is a game of athletes, and Lendl was the first to understand that. But I would also tell them to smile, to enjoy the game, and to let people see who they are, because the game is not only about winning. It is about living, and about being happy, and about sharing your joy with the people who watch you. Lendl forgot that, and he paid for it with the love of the crowds, and I do not want young players to pay the same price.

In the end, I think Ivan Lendl will be remembered as the iron man, the machine, and the man who changed tennis, and I think that is a fine legacy, even if it is not a warm one. He was not loved, but he was respected, and respect is a harder thing to earn than love, because love can be given for a smile, but respect has to be earned by work, and Lendl earned it, day after day, for sixteen years. I will remember the forehand, and the fitness, and the eight Grand Slam titles, and I will also remember the smile in the stands at Wimbledon in 2013, when Murray won, and Lendl finally won too, in the only way that was left to him.

I also think about his daughters, and about the family he built in America, because it tells me that he was not only a machine. He was a father, and a husband, and a man who loved his family, and who wanted a quiet life with them, away from the crowds. He has five daughters, and he has spoken about how much they mean to him, and about how proud he is of them, and that is a side of him that the tennis world rarely saw, because he kept it private. I think that is a good thing, because a person’s family is not for the public, and Lendl was right to keep it to himself. He was a machine on the court, but he was a man at home, and that is enough.

One more thought stays with me, and it is about the US Open finals, eight in a row, because that record is astonishing, and it has never been matched, and it probably never will be. To reach the final of the same tournament eight years in a row takes a consistency that is almost superhuman, and it shows how good Lendl was, year after year, when other players rose and fell. I think about that when I think about consistency in my own life, and about how hard it is to be good, not once, but again and again, for years. Lendl was good again and again, and that is why I respect him, even if I never loved him the way I loved other players.

And finally, I want to say that I am glad Lendl is still here, still coaching, still watching, and still a part of the game, because the game needs his knowledge, and his honesty, and his belief in hard work. It needs a man who will tell a young player the truth, that talent is not enough, and that work is the only way. Lendl tells that truth, and he has lived it, and I hope young players listen to him, because he is right, and because his life is the proof of it.

I also think about the 1984 French Open final once more, because it is the match that I would show to anyone who doubts Lendl’s heart. He was two sets down against McEnroe, the best player in the world, in front of a crowd that wanted McEnroe to win, and he came back, set by set, and he won in five sets, and he did it with a calm that was astonishing. That is not the behaviour of a machine. It is the behaviour of a man with a heart of iron, and a will that would not break. I think about that when I think about my own life, and about the times when I have been two sets down, and I have wanted to give up, and I remember Lendl, and I keep going. That is a gift he has given me, and I am grateful for it.

There is one more lesson in Lendl’s life that I want to name, and it is about the difference between being respected and being loved. Lendl was respected, but he was not loved, and he lived with that for his whole career, and he did not let it stop him. I think about that when I think about my own life, and about the people who do not love me, and I wonder if I could keep going without their love. Lendl did, and he won eight Grand Slam titles without it, and that tells me that respect is enough, if you respect yourself. You do not need the crowds to love you. You need to love the work, and to respect yourself, and the rest will follow, or it will not, and either way, you will be alright.

I also want to say something about his golf, because it tells me something about the man that tennis never did. He took up golf after he retired, and he played it with the same seriousness that he brought to tennis, and he became a good golfer, and he enjoyed the peace of the golf course. I think that is important, because it shows that a person can find a new passion, even late in life, and that the end of one career is not the end of a life. Lendl found golf, and he found happiness in it, and I hope every retired athlete finds something like that, something that gives them peace, and that lets them enjoy the years after the crowds have gone home.

I also think about the young players who copy Lendl today without knowing it, because every time a young player runs laps, or lifts weights, or follows a diet, they are copying Lendl, and they do not know his name. I think that is a strange kind of fame: to be forgotten, and yet to be everywhere, in the training methods of every player in the world. I hope that one day, the tennis world will give Lendl the credit he deserves, and will say, clearly, that he changed the game, and that the game is better because of him. He deserves that, and I hope he lives to hear it.

I also want to talk about his daughters once more, because five daughters is a big family, and because raising five children while travelling the world for tennis must have been hard, and because Lendl did it with the same discipline he brought to the court. He was a father who was often away, and who missed birthdays and school plays, and who had to make up for it when he was home, and I think about the cost of that, and about the sacrifices that athletes make, not only for themselves, but for their families. Lendl’s family paid a price for his career, and I hope they know that it was worth it, and that they are proud of him, as they should be.

And I want to finish with a thought about the smile at Wimbledon in 2013, because that smile is the image I will carry with me from Lendl’s whole career. He had spent his life without smiling, and then, in the stands, watching Murray win the title he had never won, he smiled, and the whole world saw it, and understood what it meant. It meant that the dream had come true, at last, in a different form, and that the iron man had a heart after all. I think that smile is the most beautiful moment of his life, and I am glad the cameras caught it, because it showed us the man behind the machine, and the man was warm, and human, and happy, and that is how I want to remember him.

Frequently Asked Questions

How many Grand Slam titles did Ivan Lendl win?

He won eight Grand Slam singles titles: three French Opens, three US Opens, and two Australian Opens, and he reached the Wimbledon final twice without winning it.

How long was Ivan Lendl ranked world No. 1?

He was ranked world No. 1 for 270 weeks in total, and he finished as the year-end No. 1 for four years, one of the longest reigns in tennis history.

Why was Ivan Lendl called the Iron Man?

He earned the nickname for his extraordinary fitness, his powerful baseline game, and his relentless work ethic, which made him seem like a machine on the court.

Did Ivan Lendl ever win Wimbledon?

No, he never won Wimbledon, despite reaching the final in 1986 and 1987, and he even skipped the French Open in 1990 and 1991 to prepare for it.

How did Ivan Lendl help Andy Murray win Wimbledon?

He coached Murray from 2011 to 2014 and again from 2016 to 2017, helping him to win the US Open in 2012 and Wimbledon in 2013 and 2016, and to become world No. 1.

Why did Ivan Lendl leave Czechoslovakia?

He moved to the United States in 1982 seeking freedom and control over his own career, and he became an American citizen in 1992.