My old tennis buddy, The Baseline Machine, emailed me last week with an offer to join her and two of her pals for a regular weekly match. The idea was that, if the four of us committed to playing once a week, even if one or two didn’t show, there would still be the possibility of getting in some games on a regular basis. Plus, by getting it on our calendars, we’d gradually incorporate the weekly game into our busy routines.
Everyone knows that making time for exercise is easier when it becomes part of your daily or weekly schedule, so I was quick to congratulate TBM for her initiative. Then I told her I couldn’t make it last Tuesday because I was traveling to Michigan to help my daughter move out of her college dorm. And now it looks like this Tuesday is not going to work out either, because I have a meeting that I may skip to go to the ballgame with said daughter, who’s suddenly become a big baseball fan. (There we were Friday night, sitting on the couch with a couple of beers watching the Twins trounce the Red Sox . . . . gets me all misty-eyed just thinking about it.)
There’s another small problem with TBM’s otherwise salutary plan:
I seldom have an automobile at my disposal in the evening, so unless our tennis soirees are located within a couple of miles of my homestead, I’m not inclined to participate. I can’t see pedaling five or six miles just for the privilege of getting pounded by TBM or whoever else may show up – and then pedaling five or six miles home in the dark.
I did suggest that we reconnoiter at the Nokomis courts a couple of miles from my home, but that idea doesn’t seem to be getting a lot of traction with TBM and her pals, who live farther west. So I guess we’ll see what happens.
With my left knee finally ready to do battle, it’s kind of ironic that I haven’t been able to get out on the courts yet. Of course, the weather has not been cooperating — snowflakes were reported at the May Day Festival last Sunday — and I’ve lately been slightly obsessed with house projects on the weekends. The basement TV room is coming along quite nicely (see above). Plus, it’s the NBA playoffs. And the past three Monday nights have been taken up by a community ed French class that My Lovely Wife talked me into during a weak moment. (Nous allons parler francais!!)
That’s not to say I’ve been avoiding exercise. I’ve been mostly keeping up with my morning kettle-bell routine, and just this afternoon I dug out one of Harry Johnson’s cement-laden posts over on the side yard and managed to transport it (this could be a great sort of “paleo” workout; wish I had video) out to the alley without any discernible injuries. I just haven’t been playing tennis.
I know this is all about momentum. Once I get on the court again and get a couple of sets under my belt, I’ll be more motivated to get back at it on a regular basis — or at least less willing to make excuses for not doing it.