Treein'
When I was young, playing junior and college tennis, we called it 'treeing'. After so many years away from the game and with the way slang changes anyway, I'm not sure they still call it that. I honestly haven't heard the term since returning to tennis a year ago. Back in the day 'treeing' was a good thing. Unless you were playing against it. 'Treeing' meant that you couldn't miss. 'Treeing' meant you could swing wildly with your eyes closed and the ball would still fall in for a winner. 'Treeing' meant you could try shots you always missed and come away with a winner. 'Treeing' meant you could do everything you should never do and still hit a winner. 'Treeing' meant you were having a can't miss day.
In tennis, these are the best kind of days, the kind of days that renew your faith and remind you why you love the game. They also make up for all the shitty days; the days you couldn't hit water if you fell out of a boat; the days when everything feels off'; the days when you question your loyalty to a game that obviously has in out for you. 'Out' being the operative phrase. Or in the net, which ever comes first and most often.
I had two weeks of days like this. Two weeks of days I swore I'd quit. Two weeks of days I wondered why I ever came back. Two weeks of days I cursed spending so much time and money rehabbing my elbow. Two weeks of days where nothing I did felt right. Two weeks of days that were completely joyless.
And then today happened. Out of nowhere and with absolutely no warning, I treed and treed and treed some more. There was a point when I swore that I couldn't miss. Oh, I did miss a few but they were 'good' misses, close calls. Inside-out forehand, down-the-line backhand, low balls, high balls, it didn't matter. I was on automatic. Smooth, surgical, precise, and perfect. It was execution at it's best. And it was fun.
These are the days that keep us coming back. They are the reason why we persevere through the miserable, God-awful times. They are why, even after we've thrown our rackets, berated ourselves, and sworn we've never played worse, that we make plans to play again. They are why we show up, pay our court fees, pull our newly scratched up racket out of the bag, and give it one more go. They are the blind curve, the surprise, and the exaltation. Every time could be The Time, the time everything goes right, the time you tree and tree and tree some more.
Today was that day for me, a near perfect, windy, humid, sweaty day when everything could have gone wrong, but went right instead. I'm not sure why it did and I don't think those are questions we should ask anyway. The stars aligned and that's that. Some days are good, some days are bad, and some days you just tree out of your head. That was me today. I don't care what they call it these days. It was treein'. I dare you to argue with me.
In tennis, these are the best kind of days, the kind of days that renew your faith and remind you why you love the game. They also make up for all the shitty days; the days you couldn't hit water if you fell out of a boat; the days when everything feels off'; the days when you question your loyalty to a game that obviously has in out for you. 'Out' being the operative phrase. Or in the net, which ever comes first and most often.
I had two weeks of days like this. Two weeks of days I swore I'd quit. Two weeks of days I wondered why I ever came back. Two weeks of days I cursed spending so much time and money rehabbing my elbow. Two weeks of days where nothing I did felt right. Two weeks of days that were completely joyless.
And then today happened. Out of nowhere and with absolutely no warning, I treed and treed and treed some more. There was a point when I swore that I couldn't miss. Oh, I did miss a few but they were 'good' misses, close calls. Inside-out forehand, down-the-line backhand, low balls, high balls, it didn't matter. I was on automatic. Smooth, surgical, precise, and perfect. It was execution at it's best. And it was fun.
These are the days that keep us coming back. They are the reason why we persevere through the miserable, God-awful times. They are why, even after we've thrown our rackets, berated ourselves, and sworn we've never played worse, that we make plans to play again. They are why we show up, pay our court fees, pull our newly scratched up racket out of the bag, and give it one more go. They are the blind curve, the surprise, and the exaltation. Every time could be The Time, the time everything goes right, the time you tree and tree and tree some more.
Today was that day for me, a near perfect, windy, humid, sweaty day when everything could have gone wrong, but went right instead. I'm not sure why it did and I don't think those are questions we should ask anyway. The stars aligned and that's that. Some days are good, some days are bad, and some days you just tree out of your head. That was me today. I don't care what they call it these days. It was treein'. I dare you to argue with me.
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