Thoughts Of Playing Tennis

Rushing, since I’m always late, I sped walk from my house to the courts. Calves burning a little, I trespassed over the school’s turf field and made my way to the beautiful, almost empty, no-shade-in-sight, six tennis courts. An old tennis coach of mine, and now a friend of my mom’s, had just finished (the early birds didn’t want to play in the heat, but I valued my sleep a little more so chose to play with the later group), and she went in for a sweaty hug all while rocking the buff-on-the-head look. As a sailor, I appreciate the buff and understand its cooling qualities, although the basically huge cloth headband still looks a little funky to me, versus wearing it around the neck.

Introducing myself to the three ladies I would be playing with, I sipped my water due to my slightly hungover head. As we entered the courts, I felt so cute in my li'l white tennis skirt. Unfortunately, the cuteness faded when I had to put on my knee bands. These bulky black things offer huge support and really make my knees feel better, but aesthetically, they are not pleasing.

I was super pumped to start playing. I had played a couple days previous with a friend, and forgot how much I enjoyed the sport. Not that I’m any good -- no, no, I lost every game I played even though we switched partners halfway through. But there are no expectations. I don’t need to be good; tennis isn’t my sport, so there’s no pressure when I hit the ball into the net or somehow manage to get the ball to the other side while falling down or just completely miss the ball sliding over the net so it hits me square in the shin.

My mom’s tennis group was super laid back. Mama Slater’s knee isn’t doing so hot, so little ol' me took her place and had a pretty good workout on the extremely hot Saturday morning. But it wasn’t really morning, it was more of brunch time. And the workout part was super important seeing as how I haven’t done anything athletic in two weeks besides cleaning power boats at work (and trust me, that is very exhausting).

One moment when I was supposed to be returning the serve, I got so excited about how much I like tennis and how much fun it will be to play at school (Eliza and I already have it planned), that my day dream slowed down my reflexes and I wasn’t able to hit the ball. Woops!

The heat was making my legs especially shiny. My mother prefers the word “perspiration” as opposed to “sweat.” Glancing down at my glistening tanned legs, knee bands and nerdily tall socks, I noticed that I should probably shave (not that I’m trying to impress anyone -- right, Alison?).

After an hour of running, back-pedaling, sidestepping and tennis ball mishaps, it was time to call it quits. My walk home had me smiling. I’m no tennis player, but I do enjoy being a person who plays tennis once in a while.