This is the second weekend I went to practice tennis with my boys (I always think of Lou Bega when I say that). Keb has a free-style manner that I’m afraid he won’t be willing to give up when he starts lessons. Then again, since when is worrying a good use of time?
I have been most surprised by me. I’m not athletic. You won’t see where I was on a team in high school and then got fat. No, I was fat AND bad at sports. I mean it when I say I can’t throw. It’s like I’m ripping my arm out of my own socket. I can barely THROW the ball over the net. Thankfully in modern society, THIS is not a requirement.
However, I can hit the ball forward fairly consistently. I’m learning to try a backhand. It’s less consistent, but it generally gets over the net. I’ve been running across the court and I’m not complaining about running. I don’t feel like I’m putting out a lot of effort. For once, I actually feel that I might be good at this. I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks!