Saturday, May 02, 2009

time to whack the fuzzy

Day 247 of 365 in the “Marathon of the Dope” . . .


Today is the start of our Summer tennis season - and yah, I know it’s still Spring, but saying start of our Spring/Summer/Autumn season, well that just doesn’t roll of the tongue, now does it . . .

And I haven’t played in over 3 months, so my shots will likely be shaky, not to mention my legs, which will be weaker than I would like. I will try my best not to fall down and break a hip.

Remember my right hand was killing me? - my reason for cutting the winter season short? Well, I am happy to say that it hasn’t bothered me one bit the last month or so. And my not-quite-cracked wrist was the left one (used only for ball toss since I use a one handed backhand) and so it is not a factor.

And what way to start this tennis season off.

First up - tennis aerobics.

With a crazy tennis pro.

Our tennis pro takes great pleasure in torturing me in particular. Yes, I get singled out because I am fast on the court and can hit a decent ball. Tennis aerobics is a one hour long session with 8 participants - and one crazy pro.

One of the drills is having to hit 6 balls in a row. Sounds simple, but these 6 balls the crazy pro loves to toss into every corner after you have barely recovered from the last one. Since I am his a favourite torture victim, the balls I get tossed are usually next to impossible to get. If I don’t get them I get verbal abuse, if I get them and make a bad shot I get verbal abuse, if I get them and make a good shot I get told the toss was too easy.

It’s actually very entertaining and I don’t take it personally. And afterwards you know you have been working hard and burning off those calories.

Now as if that weren’t enough for the first day back at tennis - right after the tennis aerobics is our first tennis round robin tournament.

I will be dog tired from the aerobics and will be like a jelly donut rolling around the court for the tourney.

I actually can’t wait.

I do love me my tennis.

Until tomorrow . . .

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