I used to play tennis.
In college, I spent up to three hours a day on the courts, pretending to have a forehand, hoping my opponent would hit to my backhand or give me a decent volley opportunity.
But after graduation, marriage and kids, I gave it up.
Yet, I always missed it.
Last summer, I tried to join a local women's double league but wasn't able to, for a number of reasons.
This summer, I decided to try again. I wasn't able to fully join up - I didn't know anyone who would be my partner - but I was offered the chance to occasionally sub for those unable to attend. As luck had it, after I agreed, I got an email from a woman looking for a long-term sub (about seven weeks).
Three weeks ago, I drove to the courts for the first time, both excited to step onto the court again and also nervous because I hadn't played in more than five years, since long before Lola was born.
It took me a few games to find my backhand, about a set to find the remnants of my serve. And I'm still searching for a forehand.
But I'm playing again.
And thanks to a newly developed fondness for running, I'm chasing down shots previously unattainable (I rarely actually hit them in, but I am, at least, getting to them).
Tuesdays have quickly become my second-favorite day of the week (after Sundays, when Ray is guaranteed to be home).
Between office hours, night meetings, doctor appointments, therapies, house-cleaning, dog-walking, kid time and much more, I don't have a ton of time for just me during the week.
And, yes, I feel a little guilty spending money to pay a babysitter to watch my kids so I sneak off to the tennis courts once a week.
But then I hit a winner, perhaps drop an ace down the T.
And it's completely worth it.
- Bethany :)