Tonight played host to some of the poorest tennis of my life. Three sets of lameness and failsauce, punctuated by a few bright winners (though incidentally, I might have fixed my foot fault tendency and gained a better first serve). Which is funny because last night playing with Quack felt like some of the best tennis I'd played in a long time.
I think if Coach had been there tonight, from double faults alone he would have made me sprint 11 miles then do hurdles, after convincing me to shoot myself in both heels with several arrows. It would have been completely deserved too.
I suppose failure is inevitable though, that's why it sucks. And it likes to sneak up on you and kick you where it hurts most. It is a nice reminder of humanity however (and by nice I mean incredibly unfortunate), and serves to knock us off of our high equinaceous beings (note: equinaceous is not a word, but it can be used in combination with "attila" to get one result from a google search).
But I digress...even failing at something as silly as a friendly game of tennis doesn't feel good for anyone, but we deal with it. Humans are resilient like that. Also, it makes for a good angry run; maybe not 11 miles though. I stuck with my normal 3, but immediately following three sets even that was a challenge.
Ahhh...writing feels good. Even when it's read by none and serves as a memento mori.
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