Learning to love tennis
Back when I was in middle school, my mother discovered tennis. So she enrolled my sister, brother and me in lessons. Always uncoordinated, I didn’t like sports, and quickly added tennis to my list. I struggled to hit the ball under the scorching sun. After just one session, I refused to play again.
Then, three years ago, a neighbour suggested my family and a few others join a nearby outdoor tennis club. As an adult, I’d already discovered I did have an athletic side, which I channelled into swimming, yoga and cycling. But seeing my son play soccer made me wonder if competitive sports weren’t so bad-and more exciting than laps in the pool. My mom, who died a decade ago, was no jock, but had found a resonance with tennis. Why couldn’t I?
So I signed us up. While my son took inexpensive group lessons, my three girlfriends and I split the $60-an-hour fee for private lessons. At first I was whacking at the air more than the ball. But after a month, I could return, serve and keep score. And, like my mother, I fell in love with this sport.