I’m usually a little anxious on the court with this pro. He’s seen me play from the moment I first picked up a racquet. From the time I would perspire most not from running or exertion, but from sheer nerves. He’s a good instructor, but unlike Laura the Tennis Pro, he’s not an unlimited font of patience. He’ll do what he can for you, but you don’t get many chances before he writes you off as hopeless.
He’s written me off as such many, many times.
During this particular clinic, the drills all revolved around hitting overheads, which, he knows, is not my strongest shot. It’s actually my weakest. Forget about smashing, I’m just happy to make contact with the strings. Most often, I’m hitting that shot with my racquet frame. “You paid for the whole racquet,” he’ll say with uncharacteristic humor, “you might as well use all of it.”
Today, I barely used my frame at all. I missed a few, but I hit most of them. Not especially well, but I got my racquet on them.
“That wasn’t so bad,” he said to me when I was out of the hot seat.
“It could’ve been much worse,” I agreed.
I took it as a small bonding moment between us. An unspoken, “Hey-you-don’t-suck-as–much-as-we-both-expected-you-would.” But it had this really big effect. Practically all my nervousness evaporated after that exchange. I started judging myself less harshly and playing more easily.
Did I end up dazzling him with my athleticism and skill? Uh…no. But I got something from that clinic that I’m never able to get with Laura the Tennis Pro – a long-term perspective.
Being with the same instructor every week, we inch along together making bits of progress here and there. It’s like watching your kids grow; you don’t really notice the differences day to day. But being with an instructor only now and again is completely different. He didn’t exhibit the usual pity or disgust at any of my shots – even the ones I flubbed – and it made me feel like maybe I really have come a long way. That maybe there is some hope for me after all.
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