It seems I have created a healthy habit of sorts (yay). One that takes place every summer for a designated length of time: sport.
Two years ago I signed up for rowing through the Toronto Sport and Social Club. It was my first time using the club, and apparently not the last and for good reason. It’s an easy and convenient way to be introduced to a sport or activity you’ve never tried, make friends, join a group of existing team members, or form your own group for a sport you love or, again, have never tried. While rowing was the exception, I seem to like to try new things. Always a woman of novelty.
Last year I signed up for an introduction to sailing class. Though I’ve had my fair share of passive (I was mostly there for the ride) sailing experiences in the past, I really wanted to get a handle on it myself. And while it was a serious and fun and intense learning experience, I would say I definitely need more lessons—I am CANSail 1 certified, and at this point too timid to try for CANSail 2. Maybe next summer?
This year, however?
This year I am not alone in my sporty efforts. Jayne and I have signed up for tennis! I may have swung a racket a few times when I was a kid—maybe even in phys. ed? But that was a minimum of 20-years ago, so really last Wednesday was, like, my first time.
It was fun.
It shouldn’t come as a surprise to me, and yet it did. I forget just how much I like trying new things, meeting new people… and playing. There was this total sense of play. After all, when you’re a kid, sports and ‘play’ are interchangeable. I’m gonna intellectualize the shit out of this, beware dear reader.
The simple act of dribbling a tennis ball with my newly purchased, on sale racket was at first incredibly awkward. I took for granted what it meant to play with a damn ball. I felt clumsy and like I was a series of uncoordinated limbs flailing about trying to keep my ball under control. At first I cared. And then I didn’t. And when I didn’t, that wonderful feeling of play and having fun took hold.
Never letting go.