Wednesday Whinesday
Last night I started tennis lessons.
Did I tell you all I signed up for tennis lessons?
Well, I did.
Yep.
Check another goal of my life list.
I'm not going to lie, the situation is pretty bad. I have no athletic ability. I have no instincts that say 'step this way' or 'twist that way' or 'move your feet'. Nope, none of those. I'm not sure how this happened. I guess I got skipped when God was doling out the sports gene. Add to that being left-handed and having to do everything just the opposite of what the teacher says and it gets even more complicated. And then in the class there are a bunch of people who have already taken the beginner class, and are therefore not truly beginners, and it gets even more fun.
Whine, whine, whine. Well, I warned you right up top what this was going to be about.
So. We worked on forehands (I stink), volleys (ditto), serves (laughable), and backhands (Ha. Ahahaha.). Good times. I mean, it was fun. Kind of. But embarrassing. I'm not sure that 4 more weeks will be enough to even slightly master just one swing. The teacher (who of course is like 22, and basically the epitome of hot country club tennis pro guy) is like don't worry, this is all muscle memory! It'll come right back! Yeah, pal, it'll come back if your muscles ever knew those moves in the first place! You can't remember something that never happened! I tried to hit that guy with a ball but my aiming skills are right up there with the rest of my tennis skills- non-existent.
Blah. Ok. I'll stop whining now. I am just dejected. Old people do this sport. It should not be this difficult.
But whatever. At least my racquet has flowers on it. Hey spellcheck, newsflash, racquet is a word. Don't make me punch you in the face.
Did I tell you all I signed up for tennis lessons?
Well, I did.
Yep.
Check another goal of my life list.
I'm not going to lie, the situation is pretty bad. I have no athletic ability. I have no instincts that say 'step this way' or 'twist that way' or 'move your feet'. Nope, none of those. I'm not sure how this happened. I guess I got skipped when God was doling out the sports gene. Add to that being left-handed and having to do everything just the opposite of what the teacher says and it gets even more complicated. And then in the class there are a bunch of people who have already taken the beginner class, and are therefore not truly beginners, and it gets even more fun.
Whine, whine, whine. Well, I warned you right up top what this was going to be about.
So. We worked on forehands (I stink), volleys (ditto), serves (laughable), and backhands (Ha. Ahahaha.). Good times. I mean, it was fun. Kind of. But embarrassing. I'm not sure that 4 more weeks will be enough to even slightly master just one swing. The teacher (who of course is like 22, and basically the epitome of hot country club tennis pro guy) is like don't worry, this is all muscle memory! It'll come right back! Yeah, pal, it'll come back if your muscles ever knew those moves in the first place! You can't remember something that never happened! I tried to hit that guy with a ball but my aiming skills are right up there with the rest of my tennis skills- non-existent.
Blah. Ok. I'll stop whining now. I am just dejected. Old people do this sport. It should not be this difficult.
But whatever. At least my racquet has flowers on it. Hey spellcheck, newsflash, racquet is a word. Don't make me punch you in the face.
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