Tennis Rocks and So Does Abe!

I just got reprimanded.  Really sternly, reprimanded.  Like when you’re 5 and you’ve accidentally left the store with a piece of candy folded in your hand and your mother sees it and gives you some serious what-for about “stealing.”  Enough of a what-for, in fact, that you’ll never, ever make that mistake again.  I think that was Abe’s motivation behind his reprimand of me.  He just doesn’t want me to do that again.

What did I do?  I forgot to call and reserve the four courts for my Monday night tennis group.  He could only give me 3, because the rest were all taken.  This was upsetting to him and I truly felt bad.  It actually worked out in the end, because someone finished up with their court about 20 minutes later and we were able to have it.  But when I walked into the pro shop tonight, he felt the need to sternly remind me of my responsibility to reserve ahead of time. “Next time,” he said, “I’m not going to give you any courts!”  I get it, Abe, and I’m sorry.  It will not happen again.

Abe is about 94 years old and an ex-tennis player.  He takes really good care of us tennis freaks, because, I think, he understands our obsession.  He’s been there.  Abe still drives himself to work every day, which, truth be told, scares the bejesus out of me, but he makes it, unscathed, everyday, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and full of piss and vinegar.

I believe that Abe’s health and longevity is a testament to a lifetime spent playing tennis.  Tennis is that good for you… physically, mentally, socially, and yes, even spiritually.  The courts are like a church to most of us… a place where we go to worship the game, spend time with our tennis friends, and feel closer to God through our shared love of the sport.

I think that tennis actually may have saved my life.  I was a nearly middle-aged, long time smoker who was overweight and out of shape. I couldn’t even walk up one flight of stairs without hyperventilating.  I was stressed out, not sleeping well, and probably hell-bent on an early death; when one day, I’d simply had enough.  I threw out the cigarettes and every ashtray I could find. I scrubbed the inside of my car and picked up a somewhat annoying sunflower seed habit for while.  I gave fair warning to my family and gave myself permission to be cranky and to eat whatever I wanted for 30 days until I got past the cravings.  It worked, although I gained 25 pounds!  So then, I got a really good pair of tennis shoes, a fancy new racquet, and hit the courts. 

I hadn’t picked up a racquet in nearly 20 years and I was horrible… truly, truly awful. I could barely get through one set.  I stuck it out, though, with dogged determination. I spent hours smacking a ball against the wall, because I was too embarrassed to ask anyone to play with me until I could, at least, keep the darn thing inside the fence.  I hung around the courts begging people to play with me, and, thankfully, some did.  I took vacation time and went to the courts every day.  I laid down the law at home about Mommy’s tennis time.  I wasn’t about to let anyone steal away this one thing I did for myself.  Subconsciously, I think I knew how important it was for me to get healthy.  Little by little, I got better.  I joined a couple of private groups, then I joined a USTA team, and then I managed to win a couple of small events.  I was thoroughly hooked.  I altered my diet and am healthier now than I’ve been since my early 20s.  Tennis did that.

Now, I spend an average of about 12 hours on the court each week and can’t imagine ever giving that up.  Guess I better remember to reserve those courts, so that Abe doesn’t ban me.