Peace and Good Tennis
I didn't play well last night. I think it was a combination of things. I went to class against my better judgement. I didn't fee like playing, which is moderately unusual for me. First bottom line - It was cold and I'm tired of being cold. Second bottom line - I'd already hit for an hour earlier in the day and my partner was a lot better looking than Mike McVay the pro leading the evening clinic. I like Mike and really enjoy his 'ring-ring' drills, but yesterday I just wasn't feeling it and my game paid the price.
I could blame any number of things - I was tired; it was hormones (I always play badly right before my period starts); it was cold; I hadn't played in a week; I was preoccupied with already being behind just three days into the new semester; my contacts were bad; the pressure of being the only woman in class which was only exacerbated by playing horrifically bad. It doesn't help that I'd been playing so well for so long. Unfortunately, I chose to catastrophize what could very well be (and probably is) an aberration. Any and all could be reasons why I didn't play well, but I like to think I'm better than that. Better stated, I like to make myself think I'm better than that.
Usually I can play little mind tricks on myself that bring everything back around. I like to tell myself that every shot has a chance redemption; that every shot has the opportunity for perfection; that just because the last five hundred and fifty backhands went long, short, sprayed in the fence, hit the bottom of the net, etc, nothing says that number five hundred and fifty one won't be The Shot. You know, The Shot? That seamlessly executed swing of the racket that perfectly aligns the spirit, mind, and body reminding you why you picked up a racket in the first place and all the while making you feel simultaneously envious of and sorry for the pros who hit shots like that all the time? Yes, The Shot.
Needless to say, I didn't hit any last night and I left the courts wondering why I bother working as hard as I do. This, of course, segued into worry about whether I do in fact work hard enough. I concluded that I've been a pussy of late. Of course I was sick most of last week, the weather has been crappy, and school started this week. Still, it's unacceptable to me. I need to hit and hit and hit some more. I need to focus and breathe. And hit some more.
I honestly don't like that both my mind and my body let me down last night. My mind was woefully unable to cajole or coerce my body into hitting better and my body just sat there refusing to budge. One good shot, just one (it didn't even have to be The Shot), could have turned the tide completely. Either my body or my mind could have done it. I certainly didn't need both, but sadly I got neither. Ultimately, though, I think it came down to spirit. My spirit was flat last night. For whatever reason, it wasn't in the game and my mind and body paid the price for it's absence.
I said not too long ago that I play better when I think of my racket as an extension of my soul. In that way, I guess I fancy myself a spiritual player. In fact, I attribute the success of my most recent comeback to the advent of that spirituality. It's a new realization for me and something I never played with or even thought of playing with before. In my younger days, my game was a struggle between my body and mind. Whichever one had the power on any given day determined the quality of my play, the outcome of the match, and my behavior throughout. On far too many days my body rebelled and my mind relentlessly criticized. This, of course, created a rotisserie of bad play and loudly exclaimed cuss words (the true shocker is that I only got two code violations in four years of college tennis) that stopped only when I slammed my racket into my bag and skulked off the court.
Thus far my return to tennis has been different. At the outset, I made the conscious decision that my spirit was going to transcend my mind and body. It would stop my body's rebellion and quiet my self-critical mind. With my spirit firmly in charge, I would play better, be happier, and find a peace I'd never experienced on a tennis court. It was going to change everything.
And it did. Until last night. It was probably just a minor hiccup. I was tired. I was cold. I was preoccupied. My contacts were bad. I hadn't played in a week. And I really am supposed to get my period any day now. I guess because things had been going so well I assumed that my spirit was this all-powerful thing holding legion over my mind and body. I found out last night that this isn't necessarily so. As I dig back in tonight and in the coming days, mind tricks and cross-court drills aren't going to be enough. I need to work my spirit as hard as my mind and body and hone a mindless mindfulness. Or maybe it's mindful mindlessness. Whichever.
Work the body, quiet the mind, and let the soul run free. This is the key. To peace and good tennis. Probably more as well, but that's enough for me.
I could blame any number of things - I was tired; it was hormones (I always play badly right before my period starts); it was cold; I hadn't played in a week; I was preoccupied with already being behind just three days into the new semester; my contacts were bad; the pressure of being the only woman in class which was only exacerbated by playing horrifically bad. It doesn't help that I'd been playing so well for so long. Unfortunately, I chose to catastrophize what could very well be (and probably is) an aberration. Any and all could be reasons why I didn't play well, but I like to think I'm better than that. Better stated, I like to make myself think I'm better than that.
Usually I can play little mind tricks on myself that bring everything back around. I like to tell myself that every shot has a chance redemption; that every shot has the opportunity for perfection; that just because the last five hundred and fifty backhands went long, short, sprayed in the fence, hit the bottom of the net, etc, nothing says that number five hundred and fifty one won't be The Shot. You know, The Shot? That seamlessly executed swing of the racket that perfectly aligns the spirit, mind, and body reminding you why you picked up a racket in the first place and all the while making you feel simultaneously envious of and sorry for the pros who hit shots like that all the time? Yes, The Shot.
Needless to say, I didn't hit any last night and I left the courts wondering why I bother working as hard as I do. This, of course, segued into worry about whether I do in fact work hard enough. I concluded that I've been a pussy of late. Of course I was sick most of last week, the weather has been crappy, and school started this week. Still, it's unacceptable to me. I need to hit and hit and hit some more. I need to focus and breathe. And hit some more.
I honestly don't like that both my mind and my body let me down last night. My mind was woefully unable to cajole or coerce my body into hitting better and my body just sat there refusing to budge. One good shot, just one (it didn't even have to be The Shot), could have turned the tide completely. Either my body or my mind could have done it. I certainly didn't need both, but sadly I got neither. Ultimately, though, I think it came down to spirit. My spirit was flat last night. For whatever reason, it wasn't in the game and my mind and body paid the price for it's absence.
I said not too long ago that I play better when I think of my racket as an extension of my soul. In that way, I guess I fancy myself a spiritual player. In fact, I attribute the success of my most recent comeback to the advent of that spirituality. It's a new realization for me and something I never played with or even thought of playing with before. In my younger days, my game was a struggle between my body and mind. Whichever one had the power on any given day determined the quality of my play, the outcome of the match, and my behavior throughout. On far too many days my body rebelled and my mind relentlessly criticized. This, of course, created a rotisserie of bad play and loudly exclaimed cuss words (the true shocker is that I only got two code violations in four years of college tennis) that stopped only when I slammed my racket into my bag and skulked off the court.
Thus far my return to tennis has been different. At the outset, I made the conscious decision that my spirit was going to transcend my mind and body. It would stop my body's rebellion and quiet my self-critical mind. With my spirit firmly in charge, I would play better, be happier, and find a peace I'd never experienced on a tennis court. It was going to change everything.
And it did. Until last night. It was probably just a minor hiccup. I was tired. I was cold. I was preoccupied. My contacts were bad. I hadn't played in a week. And I really am supposed to get my period any day now. I guess because things had been going so well I assumed that my spirit was this all-powerful thing holding legion over my mind and body. I found out last night that this isn't necessarily so. As I dig back in tonight and in the coming days, mind tricks and cross-court drills aren't going to be enough. I need to work my spirit as hard as my mind and body and hone a mindless mindfulness. Or maybe it's mindful mindlessness. Whichever.
Work the body, quiet the mind, and let the soul run free. This is the key. To peace and good tennis. Probably more as well, but that's enough for me.
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