MID-WEEK RETURN

Well; I’ve made my official return to the ranks of ‘mid-week’ tennis.

Now, I have played mid-week ladies before, but not for a long time.  When I moved up to Broadford, I started up at the local club (I had played for a few seasons down home too), and played for a couple of years before I got sick and had to stop.

I’ve spent the last eight years trying to get my health and fitness back under control so I could play again.

In fact, there were points during this period where I actually thought I would never get to play again.

As you know, I had tried to come back to tennis at night, but at the start of a couple of seasons, I kept pulling my calves, and that sidelined me again.

The fact that my boss said that I should take my calves pulling as a sign to give up made me all the more determined not to fail.  Just because you ping the odd injury, doesn’t mean you should stop.  Of course, that does depend on the severity of the injury. 

In my mind, a pulled calf muscle doesn’t mean ‘give up’: it just means a bit of osteo work, ice and heat, and a mug of fucken concrete.

So, the other day, I’m contacted by my buddy Kate, who was looking for a fourth lady for her team, after their regular lady pulled out because she was preggers.  Half her luck J

So yesterday morning, I rock up to the Recreation Reserve in Pyalong, ready to rock and roll.  I’ve dusted off my bat (tennis racquet), found a semi decent pair of trackie pants (no one needs to be subjected to my tree-trunks in a skirt), packed my bag with Powerade, a banana, a salad roll and a protein bar, and I’m set to rock and roll.

Now, I’m a spewer. 

I don’t travel well at all.  So, if I can’t drive (which I’m totally happy to), I need to sit in the front seat of the car, which is still a struggle.  However, if I was in the back seat, it simply wouldn’t be pretty at all.

42 years of age, and I still suffer from motion sickness.  I’m so proud…*fist pump*

I have Travacalm, which is great, but it also makes me a little drowsy.  Not conducive to a good match of tennis, I would say.

So, about 9.30am Monday morning, I find myself driving the i30 along the Hume toward Avenel with the ladies, ready to enter into our first foray as a team, in section 2 of the Broadford and District Mid-Week Ladies Association.   Oh yeah.

So we arrive at Avenel, and Kate quietly tells us that the team we’re playing against has come down from section 1.  Apparently, they won the grand final for section 2 a couple of seasons ago, but have now come back down.  Kate’s concerned.

I just laughed.

I know, having been there myself, for you to be dropped down from section 1, means that you’re not good enough, and have been hammered out of the section by the other teams.

When I played mid-week years ago, that’s exactly what happened to me.  We won our section 2 grand final and went up to section 1.  We were nowhere near strong enough for section 1, and got absolutely smashed every week.  Back down to section 2 we went.

This resulted in me being poached by another club to play section 1 with them, where I must say, I was much happier.

In the ten minutes since arriving, unpacking our shit, and stumbling out onto the courts for a hit up, I heard our opposition refer to their being in section 1 last season no less than four times.

When I mentioned this to Kate, she said ‘that makes me all the more determined to win today.’

Kate: I like your style.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched these old tarts hitting up, and there were a few good shots in there, but I couldn’t help by think that we were going to dish it up to them on a plate today.  What I was seeing was not section 1 material.  At all.  However, what you see in a hit up and what  comes together during a match are two completely different things.

I also had no idea what the ladies I was about to be playing with were like, either.

One of the girls on my team was an emergency; the daughter of one of our regulars, Trish.  Sherry was her name, and she was just a gorgeous girl.  However, she’d not played competition tennis before, and hadn’t held a racquet for three years.

This was going to be interesting.

Sherry and I were up first, and in expected fashion, the section 1 rejects hammered Sherry. They worked out pretty quickly to keep the ball away from me, and hit it to ‘the weaker player’.

That’s where they made their mistake.  Sherry is a natural athlete.  The more they hit the ball to her, the better she got.  In fact, in the thirty-four years that I have been playing tennis, I have never seen anyone improve so fast.  Sherry was simply astounding, and as the day went on, just got better and better.

At the end of the day, we lost by four games.  Four measly games.

It was awesome.  We all played so well together, and had a great day, and I couldn’t help but feel we had dished it up to the section 1 rejects.  

Their arrogance was gone, their references to being in section 1 stopped.  The smiles were wiped off their faces as they were greeted by the section 2 Pyalong Gold team’s onslaught. 

Welcome back to section 2, ladies.  Things have changed since you were last here.

I think, apart from meeting new ladies and having a great time playing a sport I love, the think I like most about mid-week tennis is lunch.

I love cooking (as you know), so it’s an opportunity to unleash the cooking beast and make something special for our visiting teams, as well as enjoy some yummy food and new ideas when we play at away from our home courts.

Yesterday, I learnt that the plain old egg sanga can be Masterchef’d up by the simple addition of bacon.  OMFG.  It was quite simply the most awesome sandwich I have ever had.  Never again will I make plain egg sandwiches.  Never.  In fact, there was life before the egg and bacon sandwich, and life after.  Amazing.

When I got home that afternoon, my body started complaining.  I had a hot shower to ease its aches, and by the time I got to bed, I could barely move.  My body was pissed off at me making it play so much sport, that it wasn’t going to cooperate any more.

Harden the fuck up, body.  Get used to it.

With my funky new mattress, I slept like I was floating on a cloud. Literally, it feels like you’re floating; there is no pressure on your body anywhere.  You don’t know how much I appreciated that when I collapsed into bed last night. 

When I got out of bed this morning, the reality of gravity hit home; hard.  Fucken body.

Anyway, I had a blast with my new team, and know that I have to work hard at water aerobics and the gym to get myself into tip-top shape to keep playing.

I can’t wait for next week, I’m so excited.  AND, we’re at home and I have to make something sweet.  OMG!  I’ve got a week to think about what I can make that’s awesomely yummy and will make the ladies feel spesh.

EXCITED!!!

Peace out.