I wish I was able to write about something a bit more substantial more often right now, but the fact of the matter is that I'm in the scholastic equivalent of a layover right now. I'm waiting for my next flight to depart, haha. So, onward with another mundane-activity-luckyone-is-doing-for-now post.
Yesterday I rode up to Athens to play tennis with Amigo. We're both in medical school so I know the rigors of his schedule, so finding a time to play can be hard to arrange. Today was just epic though because the wind was outrageous. It was gusting so hard at times the ball would literally move five or more feet to the left or right before it bounced, turning routine forehands into awkward backhands and vice versa--but it made throwing up moonballs and lobs a real thrill. It all depended on the side of the court, because the wind was blowing corner to corner, not just side to side, as illustrated in my fabulous work of art to the right. The groundies were manageable, but it was absolute torture and frustration trying to serve. On one side the wind blew the ball away from you, which if you timed right actually worked in your favor, as a good service toss is supposed to be out and in front. On the other side the wind literally blew the ball right over your head. Not only does that make it next to impossible to actually get the ball over the net, but it kills your arm in the process. I was less-than-pleased. I heard Mary Carillo in my head saying "Oh that's a pity," every time I double faulted (which was many).
Now that I've said all that, Amigo and I played an eight-game pro set that went 9-7 to me. That's a pretty lengthy pro set, although we've played each other so many times we usually get into long, busy matches. Nine times out of ten I know where that short forehand is going, and vice versa. I got down 1-4, and then the gritty-mean-competitive luckyone came out. (I heard Mary Carillo say, "He's dug in now.") When I get like that I go within myself and have a laser-like focus. I don't say anything, and I think it freaks out my friends when I get like that because I don't say anything, smack my thigh with my fist, and totally set my jaw. All that is fine during a real match, but during a friendly on the UGA Intramural courts...I can see how it's ridiculous. Amigo and I played a lot in high school, and we played one sanctioned tournament match my senior year of high school, and he said I won because I was always more competitive and intense on court, haha. About that match, I only remember a ridiculous running forehand that I never made before and will never again, an overhead that I bounced over the back fence, and wanting to barf the whole time because I was playing my friend.