Drop Shot

I recently started swinging a tennis racket. The whole thing started as a Saturday morning habit of taking coaching pointers from my daughter. A couple of months ago I attended my first adult beginner tennis class.

I laced up my shoes that first morning and got a little queasy with feeling self-conscious. I'm a person who likes to hang toward the back of the room at the beginnings of things just to size things up or find someone to mimic until I catch on. But on a tennis court I couldn't be a wall-flower, really. Standing in the center of the court all of my embarrassing beginner habits were on full display: my sloppy serve, the iffy sense I had of the lingo (let alone the rules), my habit of swinging hard and missing the ball entirely...yep, it was all out there.

Still is all out there, actually. My tennis game is improving but it's gummed together with slop and misses. I can safely say that I'm not a natural on the tennis court. I didn't miss my calling in life. There was never a professional circuit or an endorsement deal just waiting for me. 

But there is a lot to like about tennis. Like the muffled poff sound the ball makes when it hits the court. There are the skips and swings of your whole body. The way the warm sun on my face is like a pleasant spectator to outdoor games. I'll occasionally insert comic book captions ("POW!" and "Swoosh!") in spiked bubbles around a tough match.

Mainly, I like that tennis keeps me from over thinking things. It's got a pace that doesn't allow the game to rattle around in my head too long. I can't stand on my heels, in the back of the room like a wallflower, and ponder a whole lot of the time. For better or worse I have to respond.

I started swinging a tennis racket this year. I'm little surprised at how much I've enjoyed it.