A sore body – my tennis lesson.
I’m sustaining an aching body today. Every time I get up, my legs feel as if they’ll give in. I imagine trying to straighten two spaghettis. They need the support of my two hands. Pressing a desk, or a windowsill, I’ve been getting up. But my hands aren’t free of pain either. They feel fifty pounds heavier.
There is no escape for my ribcage and my chest also. Pain shots from them with every movement. My mind feels hazy, as if clouds have settle in and won’t blow away.
When I was playing tennis yesterday, I never imagined anything like this. I knew I would experience aches, but not to such an extent. But off course, when I think of yesterday, and how I ran, like a monkey that had just escaped from the zoo, the pain was bound to happen. A month long hiatus from the game had relaxed my muscle. Instead of taking it easy, drunk with passion for the game, I held nothing back. I thought I was Rafael Nadal out there, chasing every ball down, running either directions, and even diving, when I couldn’t reach the ball. Crazy, when I think of it now.
When Bhupal send me a text message yesterday at two in the afternoon, I was watching a movie, sipping coffee. Tennis wasn’t even on the agenda. He wrote saying he was bored and wanted to do something. I told him to buy a tennis racket and meet me at Queen’s Park. Four hours later, on an overcast but a cool afternoon, we met to play tennis.
From then on, it was all bang, bang stuff. I wanted to hit the ball as hard as possible and Bhupal wanted to chase everything down, return whatever I’d thrown at him. We even played a set, competitive tennis, instead of just taking it easy and just practising. I must say, I was very sanguine of the result of such exertion, or maybe simply too naïve. I’m paying the price for it now.
It’s almost 4 p.m. now. Another three hours and my day at work will be over. I’ll gladly go home and call it an early night.
I’m sustaining an aching body today. Every time I get up, my legs feel as if they’ll give in. I imagine trying to straighten two spaghettis. They need the support of my two hands. Pressing a desk, or a windowsill, I’ve been getting up. But my hands aren’t free of pain either. They feel fifty pounds heavier.
There is no escape for my ribcage and my chest also. Pain shots from them with every movement. My mind feels hazy, as if clouds have settle in and won’t blow away.
When I was playing tennis yesterday, I never imagined anything like this. I knew I would experience aches, but not to such an extent. But off course, when I think of yesterday, and how I ran, like a monkey that had just escaped from the zoo, the pain was bound to happen. A month long hiatus from the game had relaxed my muscle. Instead of taking it easy, drunk with passion for the game, I held nothing back. I thought I was Rafael Nadal out there, chasing every ball down, running either directions, and even diving, when I couldn’t reach the ball. Crazy, when I think of it now.
When Bhupal send me a text message yesterday at two in the afternoon, I was watching a movie, sipping coffee. Tennis wasn’t even on the agenda. He wrote saying he was bored and wanted to do something. I told him to buy a tennis racket and meet me at Queen’s Park. Four hours later, on an overcast but a cool afternoon, we met to play tennis.
From then on, it was all bang, bang stuff. I wanted to hit the ball as hard as possible and Bhupal wanted to chase everything down, return whatever I’d thrown at him. We even played a set, competitive tennis, instead of just taking it easy and just practising. I must say, I was very sanguine of the result of such exertion, or maybe simply too naïve. I’m paying the price for it now.
It’s almost 4 p.m. now. Another three hours and my day at work will be over. I’ll gladly go home and call it an early night.
posted by Faris at 7:59 am
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