The Tennis Court Apology Tour (gotta love it!)

Don’t hate me, but this is where I spend my Sunday afternoons. Yes, you’re seeing that right—it’s an actual tennis court, inside someone’s HOME. Talk about having your priorities straight, am I right?

So, how did I get so lucky to hang out here? Let’s just say I know a guy. Well, actually, he’s a long-time friend and my tennis coach—both past and present. And he knows a guy who happens to own this stunning, drop-dead gorgeous setup.

What you’re not seeing in this picture is the sauna, the massage room, the hot tub, the fully equipped gym, two separate shower rooms, and, oh yeah, a 12-seat, restaurant-quality bar. It’s casual.

Moral of the story: it’s good to know a few guys. ??

So yes, I play tennis. But let’s be clear—not like Lindsay Davenport, who you see up there on this 30-foot banner, along with all the other tennis legends. Nope. My tennis journey started way later—and way humbler—when I picked up a racquet (I mean, made any real attempt) for the first time at 37.

It wasn’t even by choice. It was a work thing. At the time, I worked and taught at a club with tennis but had somehow avoided ever stepping foot on the actual courts. Then one day, there I was, awkwardly batting around little red balls (because that’s how you start, even as an adult). And guess what?

I just… didn’t stop.

That’s not to say I was a natural or even remotely good. I had to work—hard. Really hard. And, most importantly, I had to get over myself because, let me tell you, tennis is a humbling—no, scratch that—a humiliating sport at times.

But despite the struggle, I fell in love with it. Loved it. Love loved it. Get it? The puns are going to come fast and furious.

So why did I love it so much?

Well, tennis is… just everything.

Obviously, it’s physical. It demands speed, agility, muscular and cardiovascular strength—all of it. But it’s so much more than that. Tennis doesn’t just work your body; it fully engages your mind. Like, really fires it in a way I’ve never experienced with any other physical activity.

It’s the strategy, the focus, the problem-solving in real-time. It’s the delicate balance of power and finesse, of thinking ahead while staying completely present.

It’s physical and mental and emotional, all at once.

Tennis is just, well… everything. I can’t say it enough.

So, after a few years of pretending I wasn’t interested, someone finally twisted my arm, and I joined a team. This was the real deal—official matches, people keeping score. Winning was everything, though I didn’t figure that out for a while because, well… I was always losing.

And not just losing, but losing to people you’d never expect. Like the 80-year-old magician who could barely walk onto the court but somehow made magic happen every time she swung her racquet.

There I was, running every which way alongside my partner, who could chase down just about anything, while she (the magician) stood there effortlessly waving her “wand” (racquet) and making us look like frantic little rabbits. Lobs landed right on the line, just out of reach. And even when we managed to get to one, there she was, perfectly positioned at the net to smack it straight at our feet—with a smirk, no less.

Good for her. Honestly, respect.

Those were some of the best years. Working at the club, playing tennis every chance I got—it was a time in my life I’ll always cherish.

But it wasn’t just about the tennis. It was about the people. My teammates—wow, we’re bonded in ways that are hard to explain unless you’ve been on a team yourself. There’s something about fighting for every point together, cheering each other on, and sharing in both the victories and the losses that forges a connection unlike any other.

It’s more than just a sport. It’s a shared experience, a camaraderie, the inside jokes, the “remember that time…” or “remember that woman who actually measured the net before our C-team match” — that stays with you long after the matches are over.

It’s with me.

Then 2020 happened. And with it, all the things that brought my tennis life to an abrupt, sad end. I mourned the loss—not just for a moment, but for four long years.

In that time, I didn’t pick up a racquet. Not once. And somewhere along the way, it became a thing. You know, like that person you’re avoiding and dread running into, but secretly hope you do, because deep down, you miss them so much. So, so much.

Because they knew you. Deeply. And somehow, they brought out something in you—something great.

That’s what tennis was for me.

It wasn’t just a sport. It was a connection, a part of who I was. And losing it felt like losing a piece of myself.

Then one day, out of nowhere—on pure instinct and impulse—I picked up the phone and called my friend and former coach, Ryan. We hadn’t spoken in four (very long) years.

Ryan. Just saying his name makes me smile. He’s playful, always fun, and somehow, when I’m on the court with him, I can’t help but have a big-ass grin on my face. He has this uncanny ability to bring out the best in my game, no matter how long it’s been since I played. And even better, I don’t care what he thinks, at all. I can make the goofiest mistake, right in front of him, and all we do is laugh and try again.

Back in the day, when I was on the team and he was the coach, my teammates used to joke (or whine) that I was his favorite. And you know what? Enough time has passed now that I can confidently say—ladies, you were right.

I was.

So naturally, Ryan was the best person to help me get over my anxiety—my bad breakup with tennis.

And since then? Well, this is where I spend my Sunday afternoons now. And let me tell you, it doesn’t suck. Not even a little.

So here I am, back on the court, rediscovering the joy, the challenge, and the love I thought I’d lost.

Tennis and I—we’ve made up. And these Sunday afternoons? They remind me that some things are worth coming back to, no matter how much time has passed.

Because when you find something that makes you grin, that challenges you, and that feels like home, you don’t let it go for good.

You just pick up the racquet and start again.