I recently had to say goodbye to my very first tennis instructor.
His name is Dave.
He looks like Chris Martin and Derek Hough and Ian Ziering -- combined. So you have a face to put with this blog.
Although, that could equal a disturbing image in your brain, I'm sure.
I got really attached to Dave, in part, because what I think he represented.
As I mentioned in a prior post, I started playing tennis because Dear Friend Jamie asked me to.
It was her New Year's Resolution. Also, she could probably see that I needed it.
That was January. This is May and now I'm quite addicted.
In fact, I wanted to play today and couldn't. It's the infuriating part of playing a sport in which you need two people.
I guess I could've hit against a wall (that's what Tennis Dave would've said to do).
Not really what I was wanting today.
What I wanted was human tennis contact.
When Jamie and I went for our very first lesson, we were the only ones who came to the novice clinic on that chilly winter night.
Thank goodness, because we got lots of attention that absolute beginners truly need.
When fresh beginners come to our clinics now, I wish for them what Jamie and I had. Time to learn the basics and not to be intimidated by others.
Jamie and I continued our Monday clinics and eventually picked up a Saturday lesson, also coached by Tennis Dave.
Tennis became a part of my life right when I needed it the most.
When I went to tennis, I was treated as an individual. I was critiqued and commended by someone who knew nothing about what I was going through.
I needed that and really still do.
I'm sure I'll never be fabulous at tennis, but for now it gives me something to work on and focus on a few times a week.
Jimmy used to play tennis.
So when I come home to tell him what I learned or worked on for the day -- he gets it.
I'm jealous of the speed I know he had.
I told Jimmy how I noticed how tennis players are light and airy... tall and thin.
They are fast.
I am none of those things.
Jimmy's no bullshit answer: You don't have to be fast, you just have to be quick.
Maybe starting when I'm 30: not the greatest idea.
Past sports injuries are coming back to haunt me.
Tennis Dave left never knowing about Jimmy or what I go home to after his lessons.
And that's okay.
He left knowing I was a girl who took up tennis and continued to come back every week.
Tennis Dave is a Midwesterner, but the intructors that have replaced him make for some interesting lessons.
One is English, maybe sounds like Russell Brand, and has bright-colored wardrobe tendancies.
Another is female, is Australian and talks insanely fast... making our brains work overtime.
She also reminds me of a high school coach. Hard core... yelling "Go! GO! GO!"
I would like to tell her my knee or left leg doesn't bend that way anymore... I feel if I do, she'll make me run laps or do pushups.
So, I'll continue tennis. I've even asked for a new racquet for my birthday.
Thanks Jamie for making me go to tennis, and thanks Tennis Dave for helping me stay with this thing I guess I'm starting to love.