UNC tennis star Reese Brantmeier won an NCAA title, but another court awaits.

When Reese Brantmeier dropped to the court after winning the NCAA women’s singles tennis championship, it was less of a celebration and more a reflection of her exhaustion.

The University of North Carolina senior had overcome not one, but two knee surgeries in her college career, months of rehabilitation, and doubts. Lots of them. Doubts about whether she had enough matches under her belt this fall. Doubts about whether the rehab process would work. Doubts about her game, and whether she could get to the finish line.

So it’s a bit ironic, maybe, that when Brantmeier claimed the NCAA title in Orlando on Sunday, she did so dominantly.

Brantmeier had never won an NCAA match before — the only other match being a first-round loss her freshman year. But here was the senior, roughly six months out from a meniscus tear, dispatching California’s Berta Passola Folch in straight sets: 6–3, 6–3. Brantmeier did so with a level of physicality she wasn’t exactly known for in previous years. That came as a result of her off-the-court training, the creativity she was forced to apply to her regimen when tennis was taken away from her.

And Brantmeier did it as a lead plaintiff in a lawsuit against the NCAA. That came as a result of the association’s rule that caps collegiate tennis players’ professional prize earnings at $10,000 per year.

Despite earning nearly $49,000 in the 2021 U.S. Open qualifiers, she could not keep the majority of her winnings. Brantmeier forfeited most of it to preserve her eligibility. While NIL reforms have opened major revenue streams for student-athletes, prize money limits remain intact. Brantmeier wants to change that.

The NCAA champion’s class action suit against the NCAA, certified in August, is scheduled for trial in late 2026.

“I’ve had the irony of that pointed out to me by a lot of different people,” Brantmeier told the N&O earlier this week. “I mean, obviously we have our legal disagreements, but that doesn’t take away from the prestige of this event. So it is still so incredibly meaningful to me, but my ideology behind my lawsuit is also equally incredibly meaningful to me.

I think those two things can coexist, so I’m equally proud to call myself an NCAA champion, as much as I hope that we can reach a resolution.”

‘You never think it’s gonna happen to you’

Before college, Brantmeier had dealt with a few minor injuries, just like any athlete. A broken wrist when she was younger. Torn ligaments on her non-dominant side that eventually introduced the slice to her toolkit.

“I’ve had a few things pop up here and there, but never something that was as much of a hard stop as my knee injury,” Brantmeier said. “And, obviously, nothing as long. It was a full year. … you know that could happen to anyone, but you never think it’s gonna happen to you.”

A bucket-handle meniscus tear — a notoriously slow-healing injury — in February 2024 changed everything. Her first surgery was a repair. After eight months of recovery, it failed. A second procedure followed in October.

For most athletes, that would have been the whole arc — injury, recovery, brief setback and triumphant return. Roll the credits. Cue the film score. For Brantmeier, that was only act one.

The re-tear came this past May — in the middle of the NCAA Tournament.

In a second-round match, she felt a pop in her knee as she ran for a ball in a singles match. Brantmeier’s knee was prone to making some “crazy noises” given her injury history, so she brushed it off. But after the match, her knee had turned purple.

“Had some interesting, like, polka-dot patterns going on,” Brantmeier said. “So we were like, ‘not great.’”

But she played through it. This was the postseason, after all.

Then, in the quarterfinals, Brantmeier jumped to serve and felt something shift. She later found out her medial meniscus had torn in the second round, and, in that moment, had moved out of place. But all she felt then was pain. Brantmeier called an injury timeout.

“I wasn’t able to walk off the court,” Brantmeier said. “So it was kind of crazy to think how quickly things like that can happen … you’re sprinting at a ball and the next one I had to get carried off the court.”

‘None of this was a given’

The physical work required for Brantmeier to return to play was immense. Hours in the gym, rehabbing. But the post-injury shift Brantmeier speaks about most isn’t muscle. It’s her mindset.

“The biggest change has been mental,” Brantmeier said. “I think you can really easily take things for granted before you have a moment that kind of reminds you that none of this is guaranteed. You can very easily go out there, just go through the motions, not really think about a match as an opportunity. It’s kind of just a thing on the to-do list. So having that extended amount of time out — that was my first time in my career that I really had to sit back and realize that none of this was a given.”

She took the fall season one match at a time, not allowing herself to glance up at the finish line or focus on the omnipresent goal: a national title.

So when match point fell on Sunday, it felt “surreal.”

“Now that it’s done, I can acknowledge what has happened, and, ‘Holy crap,’” Brantmeier said. “And, yeah, I think the falling was definitely just, I’m so tired. So I was very relieved that I can be done.”

Done on the court for this season, but not in the courtroom.

Brantmeier’s case could affect as many as 12,000 athletes who competed in Division I tennis since March 19, 2020, or couldn’t compete because of prize money restrictions. And that’s before you factor in those who gave up prize money during that time or future athletes who may benefit from a ruling in Brantmeier’s favor.

Brantmeier, though, may never personally benefit.

“I’m hoping that another girl who comes in behind me, who is in my shoes — hopefully we have that top level of talent playing in college,” she said. “I want girls playing the U.S. Open and then going to college. That’s incredible. People want to pursue their education. They shouldn’t have to choose between earning money that is rightfully theirs and pursuing education.”

Brantmeier said players, coaches, officials — even rivals — have told her they agree.

“The funniest one for me is the amount of times I’ve finished a match and I shake a ref’s hand in the chair, and the refs will be like, ‘Good luck with your lawsuit,’” Brantmeier said.

She laughs every time. She laughed, too, after she fell to the court on Sunday, even in her exhausted state.

One court conquered. The other still calls her name.

“The lawsuit, like, obviously it comes with its frustrations … but I know that it will do a lot of good,” Brantmeier said, “So I think when I truly feel like I have a joy and a purpose in what I’m doing, I’ll always be able to find the energy for it.”

This story was originally published December 1, 2025 at 5:00 AM.