life as understood

I've spent the last week or so lacking in inspiration.

Wimbledon is over, out with a bang in one of the best matches ever played. My guy lost, but he proved himself a fighter, even if his fight will be overshadowed by a broken record, like a broken record.

If there's one actually constructive reason for me to watch tennis, though, it's that it prods me to get myself out onto the court more. My recent play has been shamefully sporadic following a moderately successful junior career as a player and instructor. Late in that "career," I was faced with an ultimatum at the hands of my beloved coach: devote yet more time and energy to the sport and contend for major college athletic scholarships and subsequent bigger and better things, or have a life. I chose the latter. I've never regretted that decision, but I've often thought back on what might have been.

Since then, my prowess in the game has slipped significantly, though my love for it never waned. Last night, though, something inspired me with an excitement for a future that I haven't dared dream of since I played my last junior tournament six years ago. Last night, I finally went out and played with my wife.

I always said that if I didn't marry a tennis player, I'd teach my future spouse to become one. My first date with Sarah, though, evidenced that such would be an uphill battle. She was cute, and oh so smart, but we went miniature golfing that night, and she could barely even hit the ball. She had the club face at like a 45-degree angle. I had taught four-year-olds with better coordination. In retrospect, she was probably just nervous, and we continued to date, marrying a little over a year later. Besides, I had never said that athletic ability would or should be my number one criterion for compatibility. Just a nice perk.

We've been married fourteen months now, and until last night, she'd spent a grand total of about a half hour on the court. I guess I just never wanted to pressure her, and neither of us expected to have a great time out there. Last night, though, my wife and I ventured out, and I led an hour-long private lesson on the basic form of the forehand. The result was unbelievable. I've taught some pretty athletically intuitive people before, but Sarah outshined them all. We spent most of the hour just hitting forehands back and forth, and she returned 80-90% of them back in the court, and with flair. It turns out she's a complete natural.

The lessons/hitting sessions will continue tomorrow and hopefully throughout the summer and the rest of our lives, though it seems possible that before long, the student may become the master. This turn of events doesn't necessarily secure my starry visions of us playing in a mixed doubles league together when we're 40 and 80, but who knows? At least we're both having fun. I guess the real point here is that a potential future of rec league tennis with her is infinitely more exciting to me than whatever minor accolades I could have achieved on my own. Plus, Sarah looks way hot in tennis garb.

Inspiration attained.