Tennis elbow, and arm, and legs, and abs...

Tennis is not the dainty, refined, hoity toity rich white people wearing expensive white outfits type of game that a lot of people think it is. Today it happened to be the kick Melissa's ass and make her beg for mommy type of game. The man is a good tennis player. He used to play in a league and he's been at it for years. He's just outright good. Then there's me. I'm, well, let's just say that I'm nowhere close to outright good. Or outright halfway decent for that matter. I suck. OK, I said it. I suck at tennis and I'm a pathetic excuse for an athlete. I'd like to be a better tennis player so the man and I could play together and it would be a nice thing for us to do together. You really can't beat it - it's free (aside from extra balls and stuff because he already has raquets), it's great exercise (more about that part in a minute), and it's something we can do together.

Sounds like a good plan, yes? Here's the snag - in case you missed the previous mention of this, I suck at tennis. I'm a sucky, ass-sucking, suckified tennis player. I try hard, though, and I want to be a better one, so I think there's hope. Here's where the good exercise part of the equation comes in... We went to the park today and he taught me how to serve, how to have a better grip, and he explained the importance of follow-through (oh tennis, you metaphor for life). It was actually great. My play wasn't great, but it was great to get out there and have him teach me a few things. But, it almost killed me. Put me on a track and I could run until you tell me to stop, put me on a tennis court and make me start and stop and start and stop and I practically pass out. I'm not a short-bursts-of-energy kind of girl. I'm a start, go for a while and then stop kind of girl. Tennis is not that kind of game. I was sweating like it was the last day my body was ever going to be able to sweat and it was taking full advantage. I was panting like Duke and my legs felt like jell-o when it was all said and done.

We only had 2 or 3 rallies consisting of more than just the man hitting the ball gently toward me, me running to hit it, and then me missing it in a dramatic fashion involving grunts and jumps through the air with flailing legs. But those 2 or 3 rallies are what's got me hooked for the next time we can go to the court. It's like golf - you go to the range and you hit a whole bucket of balls. Most of them are crap, but it's those few really long, straight drives that keep you coming back. After today's display of skill, or lack thereof, I can't wait until we can get back there. Maybe I'm masochistic, but I think I'm going to like the aches and pains I feel from this tomorrow. I'm glad I have such a great coach.

P.S. The man taught me how to drive a stick shift yesterday. It was awesome. I stalled twice, but it felt really good to be able to drive on a real road and not be all freaked out by the fact that I was actually driving a manual transmission car. It's in preparation for when we get the Jeep registered. Until it's got plates I drive it up & down the driveway. It's thrilling. Woo hoo.

P.P.S. I start my part time job tomorrow. Yay!