Tennis for One

I’m told that my tennis racquet does indeed have a sweet spot but, for all my staggering strokes taken against the technically sound Joseph, I had yet to develop my sweet swing.  What I required was a lot of no pressure practice, so during a lazy Friday lull I gathered my two tennis racquets and three tennis ball and took to the Five Seasons basketball court.

Hitting the balls against the wall was so much fun that I lost track of time.  Over the course of three hours, I swung and swung with the intention of going until I fatigued my arm.  At first the motion felt so unnatural that it started to hurt my wrist and sent the balls far up the wall, clanging off the windows thirty feet high.  Then, a little tired, I relaxed my wrist and eased the trajectory of my swing and the balls started coming off straighter, giving me much better control.  The more strokes I took the more the balls popped off the sweet spot and the longer my rallies got. 

Much more than on the hard court, the wood floor sapped most of the returning tennis ball’s bounce, so by the time it got back to me I had to really concentrate on putting a fast and full swing on the ball in order to put power into the shot.  When my legs got tired from running and shuffling, I went up to seven feet from the wall and practiced my net work.  Without letting the ball hit the ground, I kept the racquet light in my hand, tapping the ball against the wall. 

Repeating the long strokes and the short work quickly passed the time and I was amazed how well my body met this challenge in endurance.  The next day I wasn't sore in my legs, knee or ankles as I would have expected.  All the swinging from the core caused my abs to be tender Saturday morning, which—ultimately wanting a six pack—I love.  I bet a lot of tennis players have washboard abs and, if so, a tennis player I will become!  Oh, I really need to work on my serve…

Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure 2014

The rising early morning sun removed the September chill from the air as we waited for the start of race.  While listening to the run’s instructions and rules, the participants formed a dense pink-cladded column behind the starting gate.  And then, the sudden BOOM! of the starter’s pistol officially opened the 2014 Komen Greater Cincinnati Race for the Cure.

 

Team Five Seasons: Joseph Pinnell, moi, Tom Porter, Amanda Mills

The course around Coney Island was wonderfully wide and totally flat—my favorite yet.  There was no bottlenecking at the starting stages today and I opened up into quick pace.  I jogged and jogged, mindfully focusing on my breathing without worrying about the time elapsed or distance covered.  Just as I was about to slow into my first walk of the day, Joseph told me that I broke ten minutes in my first mile —9:44!—my fastest mile time ever!  So surprised and elated, I forgot that I was tired and ran about half a mile before my wind, or lack-there-of, slowed me.

We passed the water station and I was huffing and puffing so much that I had a hard time downing the liquid reinvigoration.  Joseph helped me with a quick lesson of deep breathing and I was soon off jogging again.  Not nearly as long did I last, as the second start was the first done tired: back to walking.  Sorry, I said to Joseph.  Never apologize, there’s no need, he replied, and I could tell he said this because he could see that I was earnestly trying. 

After a few more starts and stops, I had a feeling that if this continued it’d be a long and ugly slog.  If I could just push myself to run a little longer, I reasoned, it’d go much faster.  I looked down the path and saw that the course rounded a corner about a tenth of mile downfield.  Don’t let me stop until we get to that bend! I told Joseph.  That was the toughest bit, stretching the jog to the corner, and I walked as soon as we reached it.  But I had earned the rest.  I repeated this tactic, increasing the intervals before walking as the finish line got closer and closer.

In the meantime, timekeeper Joseph called out more personal records that I didn't even contemplate attempting to beat:  2 miles in 22:15, surpassing my goal of 22:22; breaking 34 minutes for 3 miles.  I was especially proud that I was able to break the finish line in a run, something I hadn't the energy to do at May’s Flying Pig.  I broke the finish line in 36:23, beating my Pig time by nearly ten minutes!  As we celebrated afterwards, I was ecstatic with my personal records, gratified by the confirmation of my hard work.  And I’m glad it wasn’t perfect, that I walked and wheezed and nearly threw up.  It means there’s room for improvement and reason to redouble my efforts.  Tomorrow morning, it’s back to Five Seasons!

Shades of Week One

The nerves are all tingling in unison as I have prepared for Sunday’s Komen Race for the Cure 5K.  I’m an anxious, self-stressed, cortisol producing mess, and it feels like I’m starting the training journey all over again.  Like early on, my weight has been hovering around 297 pounds.  But unlike the beginning of the year I've been faithful to my diet, eating only my Mindy-approved plan.  I am consistently at or under my daily calorie goal, and have sweat soak my clothes every time I finish at the Club.

In Laurie’s group Wednesday night I started feeling the tell tale lack of energy that preceded the faintness I felt in my very first weeks of training.  It’d been so long since I felt that way that I stopped bringing the piece of fruit, which served as an emergency energy, months ago.  All culminated yesterday, when I was playing tennis with my friends, Joseph and the sweetly sprite-like Amanda Mills.  I am as nervous in learning tennis as I am in everything else, and they noticed that my footwork was little anxious steps, my swings over thought, halting motions.  The clarifying moment occurred as a ball was sent projecting behind me, near the baseline.  Caught off guard, my over-stimulated brain chose the rarely used tennis move consisting of a sideways, backwards jump, a feckless flailing at the ball, followed by a landing without the assistance of one’s feet.  It happened to fast and without thought; one moment upright, the next painfully hugging the court with my left shoulder and wrist.

When everyone is too polite to ridicule me, it is I who must say that this is ridiculous.  I’ve put forth the effort that has prepared me for Sunday—I am ready.  My goal is to beat my 5K personal record of 46:08 from May’s Flying Pig, and I know that I beat that time by about seven minutes at The Color Run.  As Mindy told me, I just need to just let life’s challenges come at me, rather than contorting my mind in attempts to anticipate every possibility.  If anxiety is a sort of electricity that flows freely within my body, I need to find a way to ground the livewire that so stresses my flesh and wits.  Mindy has recommended guided meditation and has led me to some great apps.  I think it’s starting to take the edge off, and know it’s healthier than Xanax or alcohol.  Tonight and tomorrow I rest my legs, my shoulder and wrist.  Sunday, we have a Race!