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!


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