MY BABY MOO

So, last night saw my return to tennis.

I’d convinced myself that I was fit enough to join a social comp on a Tuesday night in Pyalong, which was just a simple social comp with an emphasis on fun.  That suited me just fine.

A triumphant return to the game?  I don’t think so.  Not for me personally, anyway.

It’s been about four years since I set foot on a tennis court, and OMG; you could tell.

However, I didn’t really expect to be able to play like a weapon straight away.  I expected to have no control over the ball, and my ‘touch’ to simply not be there.  What can you expect after so long without a racquet in your hand?  In this part, I was not disappointed.

I tell you, I was so nervous, that bricks were coming out of my arse. 

I told myself that I didn’t want to let anyone down, but in truth, I think I didn’t want to let myself down.  I wasn’t really worried about playing like a tool, because I was expecting that.  

I was worried about my body failing me.

I was worried about my shoulder giving out again.  I was worried about my blood sugars dropping low, and having to stop playing to avoid a hypoglycaemic episode.  What I didn’t expect, was my calf muscle to give out on me.

My baby moo, as my girlfriend Bek calls it.  My baby moo let me down. 

I dragged Charlie-Albert out onto the local courts for a hit on Sunday, in an attempt to shake off the cobwebs.  It wasn’t pretty, but I found that I handled myself okay, and felt confident enough that I wouldn’t make a complete dick of myself when I started the comp.

This is when I first twinged my calf muscle.  I spent that afternoon playing in the garden for a few hours, and the calf seemed okay.  I went for a walk that night and it was twinging again.  Charlie rubbed it for me before bed, and when I woke up Monday morning, all seemed well.

Was out and about everywhere on Monday, in high heels, and the moment I took them off, my calf started pinching again.  So Charlie rubbed it again, and I woke up Tuesday morning a-okay.

However, when I was running for a ball last night, BANG!  Pain just ripped through my baby moo, and that was it.  I hobbled through the next set (we only play two sets in this comp), pretty much completely ineffective, and hobbled home.

So, to say I was disappointed would be the understatement of a lifetime.  Just when I felt ready to take that step, just when I had been working so hard in the gym to improve my fitness, my body fails me, and in a way I didn’t expect.

I don’t demand too much of my body.  I don’t expect it to perform miracles.  I just expect it to carry me through life, and every now and then, extend itself for the sake of my health.  However, it is clear that my baby moo did not get that message, and put up a silent protest of its own.

Thanks for that.  Fucker.

I had a great time last night, too.  I meet some new people, and played against some old friends. 

But you know what I love the most?  Playing against the young teenage boys that are all testosterone and ego.  They don’t expect the fat old tart (with the fucked up baby moo) to be able to hit a ball back, and are quite surprised when I can.

I’m sure it’s pretty embarrassing when a 40 year old with an injury can beat you, and of course I keep this in mind when I play them.  I don’t want to shatter their young, vibrant confidence and create a self-doubt that will ripple through the rest of their lives, possibly causing them to give up tennis in shame.

Ha! Bullshit!  I’ll happily give them a lesson in tennis!  Anytime!

Interesting to watch a young buck go from cheeky and cocky at the start of the set, to dead quiet by the end of it. 

Who’s got the moves like Jagger now?  Hey?

Hahhahaaa… 

No; in all seriousness; it’s just a game, and a social game at that.  It’s just fun and something for the people of the community to get together and enjoy.

I just hope that Andrea the osteo can perform a miracle, and this old tart can get her broken arse out onto the court again next week.

Peace out.