Thursday, April 27, 2006
Appetite for Destruction
I have entered a tennis tournament, which starts tomorrow. I am an effective, though eccentric, striker of the tennis ball. BUT:
1) I am forty-four years old. If I am not the oldest player in the draw, I will be shocked.
2) I am easily sixty pounds overweight.
So why the self-punishment? As a measure of progress. I entered a tournament last March; my back seized up like a '72 Vega with no oil in it...during the warmup. In blinding pain, I staggered through the first set, then defaulted when I could take no more. Forced to confront my infirmity, I hit the gym with a vengeance, losing forty pounds over the last thirteen months. Though still obese by any standard, I can now run around a court for over an hour without debilitating back pain.
In recent years, the United States Tennis Association has finally developed a system for competition that makes sense. If you dominate at one level, you will be moved up quickly. They never move anyone down, however, which encourages sandbagging among new entrants, including me. It is well within the realm of possibility that I am the best player in the field.
However, the schedule calls for me to play at 3:00 pm on Friday, and at 6:00 pm if I win. Subsequent rounds are on Saturday at 9:30 and 12:30. In order to reach the final on Sunday, the old, fat guy has to play (and win) four matches in twenty-four hours. That is a tall hill to climb.
Watch this space each night for results...assuming, of course, that I'm not in an ER somewhere.
1) I am forty-four years old. If I am not the oldest player in the draw, I will be shocked.
2) I am easily sixty pounds overweight.
So why the self-punishment? As a measure of progress. I entered a tournament last March; my back seized up like a '72 Vega with no oil in it...during the warmup. In blinding pain, I staggered through the first set, then defaulted when I could take no more. Forced to confront my infirmity, I hit the gym with a vengeance, losing forty pounds over the last thirteen months. Though still obese by any standard, I can now run around a court for over an hour without debilitating back pain.
In recent years, the United States Tennis Association has finally developed a system for competition that makes sense. If you dominate at one level, you will be moved up quickly. They never move anyone down, however, which encourages sandbagging among new entrants, including me. It is well within the realm of possibility that I am the best player in the field.
However, the schedule calls for me to play at 3:00 pm on Friday, and at 6:00 pm if I win. Subsequent rounds are on Saturday at 9:30 and 12:30. In order to reach the final on Sunday, the old, fat guy has to play (and win) four matches in twenty-four hours. That is a tall hill to climb.
Watch this space each night for results...assuming, of course, that I'm not in an ER somewhere.
