The Wallow-Free Zone
I suppose this would be a great opportunity to feel sorry for myself. After all, my 'livelihood' (read: tennis) has been stolen from me for the next few weeks. In fact, the duration of my break is unknown. I'm telling myself two weeks, but it could actually turn out to be longer. It just depends on a whole bunch of variables I have only marginal control over. The crazy thing is that I'm cool with all of it - the injury and the time out - and I refuse to cry about it.
Let's do the math. How would a bunch of tears help my situation? Catharsis, you ask? Maybe if I was sad or upset, but I'm just not. How about whining? I see less healing and more pissing off going on with that one. See? It does absolutely no good to resist so I'm simply going with it. I'm injured. I need to take a few weeks off from tennis. Tennis. Not life. Not work (though I did have to take today off on doctor's orders). Not school. Not cardio. Not writing (obviously). In the grander scheme of things, I'd say I'm pretty lucky.
I will admit that yesterday around 10am, I didn't feel very lucky. Ok, let me back up. I felt lucky on many levels - I was filling in with a doubles league, playing doubles with one of my favorite people, and competing again after a three-plus year break. Life was good. Sure, my elbow hurt a little but when am I ever ache and pain free? I've learned to play through, run through, work through any manner of injuries. Then at 2-6, 1-0 (after an incredibly good service game), my luck ran out. I hit a forehand return, ow!, rushed the net, tried to put away a forehand volley, ow! and, finally, oh fuck! There was no denying it. This was a whole different kind of pain. My right elbow was toast. Gripping the racket was nearly impossible, actually hitting a ball even more so.
Did I retire? Oh, hell no. My partner asked repeatedly and I repeatedly declined. As long as I could run around forehands, avoid forehand volleys, and hit a two-hand backhand volley, I was in. Serving might have become a painful issue, but I only had to serve every fourth game so it was almost a non-factor, almost.
Fortuitously, our opponents, while very nice ladies, were stupid. If I had sensed that one of my opponents was hurting, she would have seen every ball. EVERY SINGLE LAST ONE. I would have poked and prodded and otherwise thrown salt in her wound. Constantly until we won or until she gave up, whichever came first. When I finally got done with her, she would have been crying in a puddle of tears on the baseline and her partner would have felt like window dressing. This was not a 'friendly'; it was league competition. And while I may not be the most competitive person in the world, I know an advantage when I see one. Apparently our opponents did not.
Regardless, they ended up winning 6-4 in the second. I was determined throughout the set that I was going to hang no matter what. It's probably good that we didn't split. There's no telling what my elbow would feel like today if I'd forced it to play one more set, a set that would have included a couple service games.
Let's be honest, my elbow feels like shit, even after two shots of cortisone and thousands of milligrams of ibuprofen. It's going to take a bit of rest to get the inflammation down. Which brings us full-circle. I could be sitting here right now in a pool of self-pity, but I refuse. Not being able to play tennis for a few weeks is disappointing, because I love the game and I love my tennis peeps, but it's far from the end of the world.
Hell, I spent the entire last month whining to whatever gods in the pantheon would listen about the sorry state of my cardio fitness. Turns out the they heard me loud and clear. I now have several weeks where cardio can (and will) be my sole focus and priority. I can run, Spin, and elipticize each and every day with absolutely no interference from tennis. I choose to embrace that fact rather than bemoan it. After all, in a way, I got what I wished for. Can't cry about that, can I?
When my elbow is healed and I return to tennis, I'll be fit and thankful. I mean, it truly could be worse. I could have broken something or torn something. I could need some horrific surgery that would take me away from the game (and my friends) for a long period of time, up to and including forever. A couple week break to work on cardio? I'll take it. And be happy about it. It's the only option that truly suits me and my wallow-free life.
Let's do the math. How would a bunch of tears help my situation? Catharsis, you ask? Maybe if I was sad or upset, but I'm just not. How about whining? I see less healing and more pissing off going on with that one. See? It does absolutely no good to resist so I'm simply going with it. I'm injured. I need to take a few weeks off from tennis. Tennis. Not life. Not work (though I did have to take today off on doctor's orders). Not school. Not cardio. Not writing (obviously). In the grander scheme of things, I'd say I'm pretty lucky.
I will admit that yesterday around 10am, I didn't feel very lucky. Ok, let me back up. I felt lucky on many levels - I was filling in with a doubles league, playing doubles with one of my favorite people, and competing again after a three-plus year break. Life was good. Sure, my elbow hurt a little but when am I ever ache and pain free? I've learned to play through, run through, work through any manner of injuries. Then at 2-6, 1-0 (after an incredibly good service game), my luck ran out. I hit a forehand return, ow!, rushed the net, tried to put away a forehand volley, ow! and, finally, oh fuck! There was no denying it. This was a whole different kind of pain. My right elbow was toast. Gripping the racket was nearly impossible, actually hitting a ball even more so.
Did I retire? Oh, hell no. My partner asked repeatedly and I repeatedly declined. As long as I could run around forehands, avoid forehand volleys, and hit a two-hand backhand volley, I was in. Serving might have become a painful issue, but I only had to serve every fourth game so it was almost a non-factor, almost.
Fortuitously, our opponents, while very nice ladies, were stupid. If I had sensed that one of my opponents was hurting, she would have seen every ball. EVERY SINGLE LAST ONE. I would have poked and prodded and otherwise thrown salt in her wound. Constantly until we won or until she gave up, whichever came first. When I finally got done with her, she would have been crying in a puddle of tears on the baseline and her partner would have felt like window dressing. This was not a 'friendly'; it was league competition. And while I may not be the most competitive person in the world, I know an advantage when I see one. Apparently our opponents did not.
Regardless, they ended up winning 6-4 in the second. I was determined throughout the set that I was going to hang no matter what. It's probably good that we didn't split. There's no telling what my elbow would feel like today if I'd forced it to play one more set, a set that would have included a couple service games.
Let's be honest, my elbow feels like shit, even after two shots of cortisone and thousands of milligrams of ibuprofen. It's going to take a bit of rest to get the inflammation down. Which brings us full-circle. I could be sitting here right now in a pool of self-pity, but I refuse. Not being able to play tennis for a few weeks is disappointing, because I love the game and I love my tennis peeps, but it's far from the end of the world.
Hell, I spent the entire last month whining to whatever gods in the pantheon would listen about the sorry state of my cardio fitness. Turns out the they heard me loud and clear. I now have several weeks where cardio can (and will) be my sole focus and priority. I can run, Spin, and elipticize each and every day with absolutely no interference from tennis. I choose to embrace that fact rather than bemoan it. After all, in a way, I got what I wished for. Can't cry about that, can I?
When my elbow is healed and I return to tennis, I'll be fit and thankful. I mean, it truly could be worse. I could have broken something or torn something. I could need some horrific surgery that would take me away from the game (and my friends) for a long period of time, up to and including forever. A couple week break to work on cardio? I'll take it. And be happy about it. It's the only option that truly suits me and my wallow-free life.
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