32.881678,-111.854982,Francisco Grande, Casa Grande, Arizona,
USA

http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2011/10/03/111003fa_fact_gawande

As I went along, I compared my results against national data, and
I began beating the averages. My rates of complications moved steadily lower and
lower. And then, a couple of years ago, they didn’t. It started to seem that the
only direction things could go from here was the wrong one.

It wouldn’t have been the first time I’d hit a plateau. I grew up in Ohio, and
when I was in high school I hoped to become a serious tennis player. But I
peaked at seventeen. That was the year that Danny Trevas and I climbed to the
top tier for doubles in the Ohio Valley. I qualified to play singles in a couple
of national tournaments, only to be smothered in the first round both times. The
kids at that level were playing a different game than I was. At Stanford, where
I went to college, the tennis team ranked No. 1 in the nation, and I had no
chance of being picked. That meant spending the past twenty-five years trying to
slow the steady decline of my game.

Not long afterward, I watched Rafael Nadal play a tournament match on the Tennis
Channel. The camera flashed to his coach, and the obvious struck me as
interesting: even Rafael Nadal has a coach. Nearly every élite tennis player in
the world does. Professional athletes use coaches to make sure they are as good
as they can be.