Jul 31, 2017 3 min read

I used to be good at tennis. OK, “good” may be too strong a word, but I was decent. I mean, I never played for an organized team, but at summer camp, I was a solid doubles partner, and had a mean serve.

OK, that sounds a little bit ridiculous now that I’ve written it down. I guess it’s possible I may be looking at my past ability through some kind of rose-colored lens. Perhaps it wasn’t that I was particularly good, but the competition at summer camp was not all that stringent.

I am certainly questioning my old memories – and my current aptitude – based on my recent court time.

You see, my sister and I have taken up tennis. We meet once a week at a local court to whack a few balls around and get some exercise and fresh air. We are spending most of our time chasing down stray balls and sucking wind, but that’s nearly the same thing, right?

Our first day out, we had all four courts to ourselves. That was wonderful, because we played on all of them. Not for a change of pace, or because of the sun’s direction, or for any other sound or rational reason. It’s just we couldn’t keep the ball on the court where we started. So, every time the ball would veer toward another court, we followed it. Like the guests at the Mad Hatter’s tea party who wanted clean cups, we would yell, “New court! New court! Move down!” as we ran.

Our longest volley was four, I think, but we certainly got our exercise. I know my abs got a workout simply from laughing at ourselves.

A lady who was walking her dog appeared to give up the pretense of watching us make fools of ourselves in favor of sitting on a bench and openly laughing along with us. We joked we were almost to Wimbledon, drawing a crowd the way we were.

We probably need to work on the angle at which we hit the ball, because it seems we can either hit it so high the other can’t reach it to volley back, or we can hit it directly into the net. There is not much middle ground in the mix.

Our second foray went slightly better, as we had to share the space with another family and were therefore required to keep our game within two courts. I did, however, knock a handful of balls over the fence that time, so maybe it was just a different kind of bad.

Perhaps we will get better with time. Perhaps some of the muscle memory will return, and my memories will be proven correct. Perhaps we’ll gain the ability to hold long volleys and keep the ball within the lines. Perhaps not, and that’s OK.

Do you remember being a kid before self-consciousness kicked in? When you could run around like a ninny and have no idea anyone was judging you for looking ridiculous? That is what tennis is like for my sister and me right now.

It’s just plain fun.

And I’m OK with it remaining that way.

Laura Zoeller can be reached at zoeller5@verizon.net.