For the first time in somewhere close to 2 decades, I found myself holding a tennis racket last night. I suppose I should explain why it's been so long for me.
When I was somewhere around 10 years old (ha, I just gave a hint to my age, but no, I'm not 30) my best friend and I spent a summer afternoon playing tennis with the neighbor boys. Of course, we played boys vs. girls doubles. We hit the ball back and forth in the hot summer sun, enjoying our activeness. Eventually, we grew tired and debated heading off to do something else. We lazily lobbed the ball back and forth, discussing our options. I swung my racket backward, readying to return the ball, but my racket hit something solid. Yes, it was my best friend's head, just below her eye. Long story short, she ended up with 5 stitches. Needless to say, I was wary about ever picking up a racket again.
McGruff, the boy in my life, has been talking about playing tennis for a couple of weeks now. Although weary of both my skill and injury-proneness, I agreed. My first several hits were sporadic at best, some sailed way over the wall-like fence surrounding the court. As we played, I got a little bit better, at least being able to keep the ball somewhat near the court. McGruff had many laughs at my prancing and leaping to return balls. (I do resemble a defunct ballet dancer while playing tennis.) At one point, I jumped to hit a ball high above my head and somehow landed on the top of my foot. I have no idea how that's even anatomically possible, and don't worry, I missed the ball, too. McGruff beat me in 4 games, but I gave him a little bit of competition (you decide what that means about his playing abilities). Tennis is a fun, good workout. I think I shall play some more, hopefully improving my game enough to actually semi-compete.