Tonight, at the end of all our activities, I sat down on the couch and announced, to the heavens, that my cold is terrible, terrible, ugh, snuffle! And Matt studied me and said, "Yes, you're so ill that you were only able to play tennis for hours today."
True. But, as I said to him, exercise is good for a cold. Studies show this. So he suggested that if it gets really bad, I might go for a run. Hmmph.
Here on the brink of spring, Thursday has yet again become Tennis Day. Thursday morning is match day for our Thursday team--the one I'm co-captain of--which usually occupies me from nine until after noon. Today we kicked off our season, playing our Easter week match early.
At four, I'm back up at the courts for Hank's lesson. Then I drive all over the place and drop Laura at swimming, take Hank home, try to feed everyone, etc.
At seven, we have an hour-and-a-half practice for our Sunday team. The coach fires balls at you like a machine and talks non-stop. "Becky, I'm not gonna lie to you, that was your ball. You gotta go get that ball. We see the ball and we go get the ball." Imagine this spoken in the style of an auctioneer.
So by the end of the day on Thursday, I'm tired.
I have a post brewing about the politics of our tennis team(s), but that sounds, um, kind of hard right now? I'll save it for when I'm more alert. But suffice it for now to say, you would not believe the number of different conversations that have to take place in order to generate the weekly lineup, that is, who is playing and in what order. Getting advice, building consensus, consulting stakeholders, getting buy-in. You would not believe. I mean, I really like to talk and even I am like oh come on.
My co-captain is confusing interpersonal busy-work with due diligence, and I may have to wrest control soon.
More anon, friends.