This is a cross-training weekend so you won’t hear me talk about the thrill of the trail for two days. Instead, I’m going to tell you about what I did last night and today to remind myself of how much I’ve atrophied, and how truly far I still have to go before I could ever call myself an “athlete.” It’s Day Fourteen already. Just 351 days to go! Chop, chop!
Last night I played tennis with a clinic I haven’t been to in nearly a year. The players there are typically 4.0 and better. I’ve been a 3.5 in my lifetime, during seasons when I was playing 2 or more times a week; but at the moment, I’m a 2.5 – which translates into “occasionally bats it over the net.” I went to the clinic figuring it would be a disaster but knowing the only way back in is through the door – so, hand on handle and twist.
I got a nice surprise. For some reason last night the clinic had a bevy of poor players in attendance. I was elated! We’d suck together! I was grouped with 7 others – 2 girls who were slightly fatter than I, three athletic looking girls, a 50-something Chinese woman whose arms hung limp in her over-sized T-shirt, and one hot 25 year old stud boy. The funny thing about Stud was, he was almost cartoon-like in his physical perfection. His waist and tush were tight and small, and his chest, arms and shoulders just blossomed up and out from there, like an inverted triangle. We were all staring. He was too muscular to be a model, but he had a really pretty face.
We all made our introductions and stated our experience levels for the instructor. I’d been playing the longest. Stud said he’d never held a racquet before so the instructor gave his grip a glance and made an adjustment. Stud focused hard on the lesson. “Got it,” he said, with his big, alabaster smile. Maybe he’s dumb, I thought. One of the athletic girls nudged me and gave me a bug-eyed “Is he for real?” look. He seemed too athletic to have never ever played tennis before.
At first, it seemed like he was for real. He sucked as bad as the rest of us. He missed the ball. He struggled to get his backhand over the net; but then out of nowhere, Stud started to improve - exponentially. He was whipping the ball into opposing corners, applying topspin and back slice. Of course, he could also run fast to meet any crazy return we sent his way… and he wasn’t sweating. He was Super Stud!
I, on the other hand, was sweating straight through my clothing. Like a moist sausage, I’d stuffed myself into last year’s newest tennis skirt and polo, which are about 2 sizes too small at the moment. The scene was obscene!
Next we were grouped into teams and I was placed with Stud who declared we needed a team name, and pronounced us the “Legion of Doom!” which spoke to his age ever so charmingly. Stud helped us take home some points, and my shots got better, but the girls and I started to titter a little with resentment that this person had obviously lied about his past tennis experience. He should have been playing with people his own level. He was dominating the court and totally wasting our time. Go play with the boys!
But then something happened. It was time to pick up the balls so we all grabbed hoppers or knelt to pile balls on our racquets and bring them to the basket. I happened to be by Stud and noticed him dragging his hopper around - but instead of pressing the basket down on the balls, to push them in from the underside – like you’re meant to – he was picking them up with his hand and tossing them one by one in the basket. I thought to myself, oh he just wants more exercise so he's bending down over and over; but he was watching me, curiously. “That’s cool. How are you doing that?” ...And I realized in that moment, Stud had not been lying. He had really never played tennis before. Anyone who has played tennis knows how to use the hopper. You learn that on the first day – even if you are 5 years old.
I asked him again, “Sorry. So, you really haven’t played tennis before?” He looked a little hurt. I was questioning his integrity. He was, after all, a very nice guy. I said I apologized because I’d doubted him, only because he was so good; but really, I should have been complimenting his amazing athletic ability. He said he had mastered pretty much every other sport but never knew anyone to teach him tennis. He’d looked on Craig’s List and found this group. The racquet was borrowed. Could I tell him what the instructor meant when she was yelling “volley?”
Stud made me think about physical fitness, and how being a good runner wouldn’t make me a good athlete; but how being a good athlete might make me a good runner. That’s where I want to be a year from today – in top athletic condition. That is my real goal. Running the Marathon will be achievable only if I can both develop running skills and build my athletic ability. I can't just run to prepare for the race.
For the last 30 minutes of the tennis clinic, I had a seismic shift of my own. Stella got her groove back. I was the undefeated queen of the court. After 25 minutes the two pros who run the clinic were brought in to try to defeat me but they couldn't! (Seriously.) I couldn't breathe - and I was redder than a beet - but I was on top of the world. My teammates were incredibly supportive and excited for me. I think the girls might also have been secretly happy to see Stud fall back in line. At the end of the night there were high-fives all around and Stud also wanted to shake my hand.
Today, every muscle in my body aches. I could barely walk when I got up. My feet are blistered in new places from my old tennis shoes and my right arm throbs; but I love it! Tennis is my favorite way to spend an hour. Chasing that fuzzy ball around makes me happy. You know that glazed look of bliss a dog gets on its face when it's retrieving a stick you sent his way; that's exactly how I feel when I'm on the court and the ball goes pop on my strings. Pop! The best feeling in the world.
This afternoon, I took to the pool, as scheduled, for more cross training; and it was a mildly unpleasant experience. The water was warm, soft and disconcertingly under-chlorinated, so that when I got a huge mouthful of it, I gagged hard. But I did my laps, leg lifts, kick-board and arm exercises. I didn’t love it. I’m glad I’m going to be running again on Monday. Did I just say that?
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