The Visible Woman...April 132 2003

back to tennis

I haven't played much tennis since we joined a tennis club. There are reasons. I didn't have any tennis buddies, especially not in the club, to urge me on. When I did play, it hurt. I weighed 180 and my muscles, tendons and ligaments screamed at the stress because I was so out of shape. So, I told myself I was in the gym, using weights and the exercise bike to get in shape so that I could play three matches (of potentially three sets) in two days. Once, that would have been nothing. But I was lighter if not in better shape. Even hitting the other hit I twisted my knee wrong on a first step and felt a twinge. Just a hint that in spite of my work in the gym, I could get hurt.

I'm still heavy (168 or so). Back when I played constantly I probably weighed 155 or less even. Overweight but not hugely.

Beyond the excuses, there are the other people. The skinny women in those little skirts. They have a drawer full of expensive tennis wear and look good in it. They wear visors. (I like to keep the heat off my head but don't visors really epitomize what I'm talking about, looking good while still sweating but not much, not mussing the hair too much?) I wear a hat. I sweat from my scalp (a consequence of psoraisis or maybe just being overweight) in buckets. At the end of a match, I'll be a drowned, overweight rat creature and the others, well, they will look resplendent.

My partner for the event is a club guest, a friend of someone else in the club. She, too, seems a little intimidated by the club, but she actually seems to know more members than I do. She has other reasons to be intimidated, of course. She is young and single and can't afford the initiation fee. When you aren't a member but are a guest at something like this it's natural to be diffident. Actually maybe she doesn't feel intimidated at all. She didn't really show it all that much.

Let me just say that I can't point to one thing anyone has done or said that makes me feel intimidated. Even though people who take a club like this for granted can, in general, contribute to one's intimidation. (People whose parents were members, who know no life that doesn't include a nice club.) People here are, in fact, generally quite gracious. This feeling of not belonging, of being that shy kid on the farm playing alone or, moved to the city, never coming closer to tennis than banging a dead ball on a garage door with an old racket... being that kid is inside my head. It isn't fueled by much.

Why, you ask, don't you get some tennis skirts and those briefs with the upside down pockets and little V-neck tops that cost fifty bucks, a new racket (mine's five or ten even years old, restrung and regripped a couple of times)? A visor even? Because, I find it impossible to be that person. I'm the person who wears polos given away by companies, some men's shorts bought on sale, a gimme cap. The person who sweats through those if play goes on very long. That's me.

It's funny about clothes. It would seem people could easily change what they wear. And they can (if they can afford what they want). They can't so easily change what they feel comfortable wearing and, of course, what doesn't look stupid on their overweight body. I wear men's shorts because my waist is thick but my hips not commensurate for women's wear. This means women's shorts that will button are rather too generous in the hips and thighs and create a rather stupid effect tent effect in my opinion. Which is not to say that I don't look stupid in my shorts. Just that they feel right and sort of comfortable. I pass a mirror occasionally. It's a horror show. I'm not stupid. But I feel comfortable.

It's funny but I haven't thought about this whole 'you are what you wear and who the heck are you?' bit much in years. I just settled in to wearing certain things to work, to play, to dog walk. For black tie, I've adopted shapeless black pants and sparkly tops, throwing a tuxedo in occasionally, just getting by. Something in black. (No Susan Dell dresses for this one.) I didn't have time to think about it. I also think that, pre Westwood, I wasn't around so many smartly-attired, thin women who, um, had the same schedule I did! (Work out whenever you want, play tennis if you like, get errands done.)

Well, I won't change. The question is will I become comfortable around these folks. And will my tennis improve enough not to embarrass me and will my joints not explode?

So, how did the tennis go? The first match pitted us against an older woman, a mom who was watching her watch to pick up her high-school daugther and a young girl. The woman hadn't had a partner so she had picked a classmate of her son's. Her son and his dad were playing together which gave her the idea.

My partner and I had never taken the court as partners. Nevertheless, we won three games right off. Then the other team started making fewer mistakes. In spite of a number of deuces (we played sudden death second deuce, first time I'd played that way), we lost six in a row. We managed to win one of the next set. My lob had worked at first quite well and then started sailing a bit. (Even in victory the older woman couldn't stop talking about my devilish lob which I'd even used on service return. Alas, the surprise couldn't last.)

We wandered around watching other people play in better, higher flights. (All flights were higher than our 6.0 composite.) We got box lunches. I ate an entire ham sandwich, fruit cup, chips, pickle and two cookies. We were due to start at 1pm playing another team. We were all there so we started a little early. They didn't have a 16-year-old to chase things down. Instead, a woman about my age perhaps and one about the age of my partner (37) or younger.

We fared better in this match. We dropped a game in each set and, in spite of more deuces, we milked the weaknesses of the other team.

We watched some other matches including the finish of our flight. (The team with the kid beat the team we will play tomorrow. They are a cinch to go 3-0 in the round robin.)

I drank water and read my book on the terrace over center court, watching some really good men's doubles. I talked to FFP and he was gardening, putting stuff out in pots, etc. So I just stayed at the club, occasionally chatting, reading, watching. I got some beer. My partner had gone off to do errands, but when I saw that they were going to serve fajitas, I called and told her if she wanted to drop back by and eat to do so. I didn't think she would. But she said she would probably do it.

I got a few chips, guacamole, queso, another beer. This big boisterous man named Terry came up. He was betting on teams in the Calcutta. Somehow you bet on the winners. He wasn't playing. People kept asking Terry why is wasn't playing. "I get tired of winning," he would say. In spite of not paying for the tourney, he was drinking the Shiner Bock. In spite of this, he chose to ask me if I 'had a relative playing.' It was a small accusation of, what? That I didn't belong there? That I was drinking beer meant for players? I stammered that my play was over and I was watching. So, OK, sometimes the people are less than gracious. But this is the only example I have. The guy probably meant nothing by it but I wanted to tell him I was paid in full and if they were such an exclusive club then we shouldn't be trying to get new members and build the cash reserves all the time. Snort. The guy is one of those guys, though, who never 'mean anything by it.' In spite of my feeling of not belonging and dislocation, I didn't feel worse when this guy was talking. I felt vindicated. I'm not making up the fact that there is me and then 'them.'

My partner came back and joined me and some other people she knew and some other members for food and beer. At several points, the other women at the table were on the phone with their kids. I didn't have the fajitas, just another sip of Shiner. My partner is on a board with one of the members and they were talking board business. It's odd but this non-member has given me a connection to several members. FFP is always getting to know people, chatting to women on the eliptical trainer next to him, etc. We have an ongoing 'we might have dinner' with a handsome couple he met this way, I think. FFP is agressive at seeking out new people. Just like my tennis partner this weekend who sells first aid supplies to businesses.

Finally, I go home. I tingling from the sun. (Although I applied 45 Sunblock before match two and was sitting when not playing in the shade, I forgot my neck and ears on the sunblock. Texas heat is starting to be felt, just a little.) I didn't play all that much (3-6, 1-6, 6-1,6-1) and I'm not sore or exhausted or even dehydrated. I didn't really sweat that much.

It feels good, however, to just take a shower, put on a T-Shirt and shorts and sit in my chair reading the paper. FFP bought a pizza and I eat a couple of slices and then some cheese and green onions. I drink water and a Cherry Coke. My diet stinks. When I live to be 100, I will be a testament to genes over clean living.

We watch a Law and Order rerun, The District and The Agency. I finally go to bed with my book but I'm soon asleep.

tennis wear, once

"Tennis belongs to the individualistic past - a hero, or at most a pair of friends or lovers, against the world. "

Jacques Barzun

JUST TYPING
Playing in a tennis event.
Even one as 'fun' and simple as this.
Takes me back.
To when I was younger.
As young as my partner.
Younger still.

			back to tennis I haven't played much tennis since we joined a tennis club. There are reasons. I didn't have any tennis buddies, especially not in the club, to urge me on. When I did play, it hurt. I weighed 180 and my muscles, tendons and ligaments screamed at the stress because I was so out of shape. So, I told myself I was in the gym, using weights and the exercise bike to get in shape so that I could play three matches (of potentially three sets) in two days. Once, that would have been nothing. But I was lighter if not in better shape. Even hitting the other hit I twisted my knee wrong on a first step and felt a twinge. Just a hint that in spite of my work in the gym, I could get hurt. I'm still heavy (168 or so). Back when I played constantly I probably weighed 155 or less even. Overweight but not hugely. Beyond the excuses, there are the other people. The skinny women in those little skirts. They have a drawer full of expensive tennis wear and look good in it. They wear visors. (I like to keep the heat off my head but don't visors really epitomize what I'm talking about, looking good while still sweating but not much, not mussing the hair too much?) I wear a hat. I sweat from my scalp (a consequence of psoraisis or maybe just being overweight) in buckets. At the end of a match, I'll be a drowned, overweight rat creature and the others, well, they will look resplendent. My partner for the event is a club guest, a friend of someone else in the club. She, too, seems a little intimidated by the club, but she actually seems to know more members than I do. She has other reasons to be intimidated, of course. She is young and single and can't afford the initiation fee. When you aren't a member but are a guest at something like this it's natural to be diffident. Actually maybe she doesn't feel intimidated at all. She didn't really show it all that much. Let me just say that I can't point to one thing anyone has done or said that makes me feel intimidated. Even though people who take a club like this for granted can, in general, contribute to one's intimidation. (People whose parents were members, who know no life that doesn't include a nice club.) People here are, in fact, generally quite gracious. This feeling of not belonging, of being that shy kid on the farm playing alone or, moved to the city, never coming closer to tennis than banging a dead ball on a garage door with an old racket... being that kid is inside my head. It isn't fueled by much. Why, you ask, don't you get some tennis skirts and those briefs with the upside down pockets and little V-neck tops that cost fifty bucks, a new racket (mine's five or ten even years old, restrung and regripped a couple of times)? A visor even? Because, I find it impossible to be that person. I'm the person who wears polos given away by companies, some men's shorts bought on sale, a gimme cap. The person who sweats through those if play goes on very long. That's me. It's funny about clothes. It would seem people could easily change what they wear. And they can (if they can afford what they want). They can't so easily change what they feel comfortable wearing and, of course, what doesn't look stupid on their overweight body. I wear men's shorts because my waist is thick but my hips not commensurate for women's wear. This means women's shorts that will button are rather too generous in the hips and thighs and create a rather stupid effect tent effect in my opinion. Which is not to say that I don't look stupid in my shorts. Just that they feel right and sort of comfortable. I pass a mirror occasionally. It's a horror show. I'm not stupid. But I feel comfortable. It's funny but I haven't thought about this whole 'you are what you wear and who the heck are you?' bit much in years. I just settled in to wearing certain things to work, to play, to dog walk. For black tie, I've adopted shapeless black pants and sparkly tops, throwing a tuxedo in occasionally, just getting by. Something in black. (No Susan Dell dresses for this one.) I didn't have time to think about it. I also think that, pre Westwood, I wasn't around so many smartly-attired, thin women who, um, had the same schedule I did! (Work out whenever you want, play tennis if you like, get errands done.) Well, I won't change. The question is will I become comfortable around these folks. And will my tennis improve enough not to embarrass me and will my joints not explode? So, how did the tennis go? The first match pitted us against an older woman, a mom who was watching her watch to pick up her high-school daugther and a young girl. The woman hadn't had a partner so she had picked a classmate of her son's. Her son and his dad were playing together which gave her the idea. My partner and I had never taken the court as partners. Nevertheless, we won three games right off. Then the other team started making fewer mistakes. In spite of a number of deuces (we played sudden death second deuce, first time I'd played that way), we lost six in a row. We managed to win one of the next set. My lob had worked at first quite well and then started sailing a bit. (Even in victory the older woman couldn't stop talking about my devilish lob which I'd even used on service return. Alas, the surprise couldn't last.) We wandered around watching other people play in better, higher flights. (All flights were higher than our 6.0 composite.) We got box lunches. I ate an entire ham sandwich, fruit cup, chips, pickle and two cookies. We were due to start at 1pm playing another team. We were all there so we started a little early. They didn't have a 16-year-old to chase things down. Instead, a woman about my age perhaps and one about the age of my partner (37) or younger. We fared better in this match. We dropped a game in each set and, in spite of more deuces, we milked the weaknesses of the other team. We watched some other matches including the finish of our flight. (The team with the kid beat the team we will play tomorrow. They are a cinch to go 3-0 in the round robin.) I drank water and read my book on the terrace over center court, watching some really good men's doubles. I talked to FFP and he was gardening, putting stuff out in pots, etc. So I just stayed at the club, occasionally chatting, reading, watching. I got some beer. My partner had gone off to do errands, but when I saw that they were going to serve fajitas, I called and told her if she wanted to drop back by and eat to do so. I didn't think she would. But she said she would probably do it. I got a few chips, guacamole, queso, another beer. This big boisterous man named Terry came up. He was betting on teams in the Calcutta. Somehow you bet on the winners. He wasn't playing. People kept asking Terry why is wasn't playing. "I get tired of winning," he would say. In spite of not paying for the tourney, he was drinking the Shiner Bock. In spite of this, he chose to ask me if I 'had a relative playing.' It was a small accusation of, what? That I didn't belong there? That I was drinking beer meant for players? I stammered that my play was over and I was watching. So, OK, sometimes the people are less than gracious. But this is the only example I have. The guy probably meant nothing by it but I wanted to tell him I was paid in full and if they were such an exclusive club then we shouldn't be trying to get new members and build the cash reserves all the time. Snort. The guy is one of those guys, though, who never 'mean anything by it.' In spite of my feeling of not belonging and dislocation, I didn't feel worse when this guy was talking. I felt vindicated. I'm not making up the fact that there is me and then 'them.' My partner came back and joined me and some other people she knew and some other members for food and beer. At several points, the other women at the table were on the phone with their kids. I didn't have the fajitas, just another sip of Shiner. My partner is on a board with one of the members and they were talking board business. It's odd but this non-member has given me a connection to several members. FFP is always getting to know people, chatting to women on the eliptical trainer next to him, etc. We have an ongoing 'we might have dinner' with a handsome couple he met this way, I think. FFP is agressive at seeking out new people. Just like my tennis partner this weekend who sells first aid supplies to businesses. Finally, I go home. I tingling from the sun. (Although I applied 45 Sunblock before match two and was sitting when not playing in the shade, I forgot my neck and ears on the sunblock. Texas heat is starting to be felt, just a little.) I didn't play all that much (3-6, 1-6, 6-1,6-1) and I'm not sore or exhausted or even dehydrated. I didn't really sweat that much. It feels good, however, to just take a shower, put on a T-Shirt and shorts and sit in my chair reading the paper. FFP bought a pizza and I eat a couple of slices and then some cheese and green onions. I drink water and a Cherry Coke. My diet stinks. When I live to be 100, I will be a testament to genes over clean living. We watch a Law and Order rerun, The District and The Agency. I finally go to bed with my book but I'm soon asleep.

	tennis wear, once "Tennis belongs to the individualistic past - a hero, or at most a pair of friends or lovers, against the world. " Jacques Barzun
	JUST TYPING Playing in a tennis event. Even one as 'fun' and simple as this. Takes me back. To when I was younger. As young as my partner. Younger still.

Saturday, April 12, 2003