|The Little Yellow Ball|
Forty is peeking its ugly head around a corner, hissing through its fangs at me. It's about 28 months away, which might as well be tomorrow. In retaliation (fear?), I'm fighting back. I've taken up running and I'm still working on tennis. I've even been to the gym regularly enough that they don't look at me with hatred anymore. (Conversation I know goes on in the desk staff's head: "Stupid New Year Resolution girl making us wash more freaking towels when her fat ass doesn't even sweat. Can't wait till February when the lards all quit and go back to the Blue Bell ice cream!")
A little history on my physical/exercise background: There is none. Nada. Nihil. I avoided physical activity at all costs in favor of cold Coca-Colas and Camel Lights. I took Power Walking in college to meet my PE requirements...and self-defense so I could whip your arse with a broomstick when you made fun of me for being lazy and fat. Technically that's self-OFFENSE, but who cares.
The running is going ok...meaning I haven't died yet. I suck at the whole in-through-the-nose, out-through-the-mouth thing, but I'm thinking about doing it one day. When my chest quits heaving from doing it wrong, maybe I'll learn to do it the right way? Tennis is much more promising. I do own two outfits now, which automatically makes me look more versed in the world of the yellow felt ball. Last night I learned that new balls smell differently than used balls. (I know how that sounds, and it took me a minute to stop thinking like a high school boy when the very knowledgeable lady was explaining this to me.)
Last week I hit two shots that looked alright. They stayed in and no one hit them back to me. I figured it was a fluke. But, no! Last night I hit a couple that felt good. They sounded good. I understood what it felt like to actually play tennis, not stand there and wait for a miracle to happen. There was one shot that skimmed over the net and went just left of my opponent, out of her reach. She even complimented me on it. Granted we lost miserably, but we have improved! At one point the ball was in play for more than 30 seconds!!
I feel my competitive nature creeping up, though. Several people have described what it's like to hit those shots, but I thought they were delusional. Now, I'm not so sure. I want to be better...not that I didn't before, but now I want to go out there to kick ass and take names.
My hope is that I can get better (or best...whatever) and still enjoy it. Until now, it's been all comedy and error with a group of girls who tolerate my shenanigans on their beloved courts. I will say this....my partner and I have improved IMMENSELY since we started this, and people should fear us: We have matching racquets AND skirts. How ya like us now?