Taking Weekend Tennis Seriously

Late last year, I was really looking forward to the recreational tennis off-season (November to February). This would have been my first tennis off-season with formal coaching. I had big plans. I was finally going to learn how to hit overheads, dear reader. Big, BIG plans.

Overheads terrorize the bed sheet marks out of me. I know. I ask myself the same question: will I ever run out of tennis strokes to be terrified by?

I’m shaking my head slowly and sadly. No.

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I’m watching the Wildcard Doubles draw for the Challenger of Dallas, a $100,000 prized men’s professional tennis tournament, and something dawns on me about tennis doubles.

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There’s something wrong with my tennis head that no Pink/Katy Perry/Sara Bareilles song can help me out of.

I wouldn’t wish this mental anguish on anyone. Anyone. This sucks. Playing scared is no way to play tennis.

How to describe it. Um…

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• There’s nothing like taking a private tennis lesson to humble the rice pudding out of you.
• I very rarely leave a tennis lesson or a drill pleased with my game. I’m totally the Tim Tebow of weekend tennis. I’m awful in practice yet I inexplicably have won in match play (#WhosCarryingMeThisTime). I’m convinced more than ever that I’m rated as I am simply because I’m more athletic than most people who play recreational tennis are. I’m clearly doing tennis wrong. My coaches and I are still stuck on how to hit groundstrokes. And what the right grip is. Ugh, my grip. There’s a mark on my racquet grip that corresponds with a mark on my fist so I know how I’m supposed to hold my racquet. If you watch me closely while I’m playing a match, sometimes you’ll see me glance down at my racquet in mid rally to see if the marks match up.

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I’m constantly amazed by life and how life unfolds. I probably didn’t know you a year ago. I probably was not on your tennis team a year ago. And now here we are. Texting buddies.

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Half of house/pet sitting is pleading with dogs to go to the bathroom when it’s raining/wet outside.

As I predicted, my coach cancelled that next night’s lesson because it was too cold. Eye roll.

I’ve recently started private lessons with a second tennis coach while I’m still taking from my original teaching pro whom I’ve been with for about a year. That was a mistake. You know for two people who don’t know the other one exists – they work at different facilities, and one is new to town – they sure have loud arguments with each other. In my head.

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I hate the cold.

I hate the cold so much.

I live in Texas. I live in Texas where any hint of cold makes people think the world is about to be sucked into a black hole and all of society is nearing its end and RUN FOR YOUR LIVES, PEOPLE.

I’m not the person who gets her skirt all up in a tizzy and says no to tennis because it’s too cold. I’m the person who doesn’t get to play tennis because everyone else gets their skirts all up in a tizzy because it’s too cold.

The too-cold-to-play-tennis conversation always goes the same way, too:

The World: “Hey, do you guys think it’s too cold to play? Should we reschedule?”

Me: “No, I don’t think it’s too cold to play. Smiley face.”

The World: “Well, I think it’s too cold to play. Let’s reschedule.”

I don’t know why I even bother…

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All the world’s a stage / And all the men and women merely players

– William Shakespeare’s As You Like It

There’s a moment – a real, specific instance – at some point in your life in which you realize the USTA rating system aka the National Tennis Rating Program (NTRP) makes no sense.

You look up someone’s rating at the end of the year, let’s say, and you see what their rating is, and your jaw drops; you shake your head at the injustice of it all; and you feel sick to your stomach for that person because that number staring back at you next to that person’s name is the SILLIEST thing you’ve ever beholden.

That’s the moment.

Or my favorite: you look up someone’s rating at the end of the year just for giggles, and you see what their rating is, and there’s a beat in time to allow your eyes to adjust/do a double-take and for your brain to digest the number staring back at you next to that person’s name and then…the next thing you know you’re rolling on the ground laughing your a—off because that is the SILLIEST thing you’ve ever beholden.

That’s the moment.

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USTA’s year-end ratings come out on Monday, December 2nd. I’ll find out whether I’ll have to play 4.5 for 2014 Spring USTA, or whether I’ll be able to compete at the 4.0 rating for next year’s Tri-Level Tournament. 😉

I don’t know what my 2014 tennis fate will be. I don’t understand the USTA rating system, and I haven’t done the research I probably should as a weekend tennis crazy (and if I ever start my research, I’ll be sure to check out what one of my commenters, Clif Render, wrote about it at his blog).

I batted .500 for 2014 4.5 Fall USTA. I played people who were rated 4.5s. I won. I lost. I went to lunch.

But where were my opponents on the spectrum of 4.5 rating land: low, medium, or high? Did I beat the right kind of 4.5s? Did I win enough games? Blahblahblah, it’s all very silly.

Do I still get to be the 4.0 in the upcoming USTA Combo Tournament and have a chance of avenging my loss in the area 7.5 finals? That’s mostly what I’m anxious to find out.

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I was mentally fried for at least a week from the Tri-Level Tournament two weekends ago. It was the weirdest feeling. I couldn’t even look my racquet in its face is how tired I was of tennis.

Ruh-roh.

It took till this past Saturday before I started recovering. USTA Fall Play-offs were going on that same weekend, and I don’t think I would have been able to play and do well in another high-stressed atmosphere so soon had my team been in it. I guess I didn’t understand just what I was in for that fateful tournament weekend, which turned out to involve playing very big deal, high-level tennis matches back-to-back-to-back, and so I didn’t take the appropriate steps afterwards. Of course, I’m going to blame the system for not preparing me adequately enough for such an experience.

An aside: I only had two 4.5s on my Tri-Level team, and they had to play back-to-back-to-back-to-back-to-back. They won all their matches except the last one. They are amazing. But I’m going to persevere and continue on with my woe-is-me post, anyway.

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