I survived tennis tonight, but not without a little damage to my self-esteem. The full extent of my suckitude was displayed today, but regardless of that, our team of three won 2 of 3 games simply because underdogs rule. Our win was incredulous, I know, but sometimes the stars align themselves just right and strange things happen.

Sadly, next week is our last session and I have to say that I almost feel like I’m worse than when I started. At least before I started trying to do it the right way, I could hit it over the net (sometimes). Deconstructing everything: grip, stance, swing, feet position, upper body movement… it’s all so overwhelming. But, before you can start constructing the Trump Tower, you have to tear down the shanty to build a solid foundation, right? So, right now, my little grass shack is lying in a smoldering heap of destruction and the only way to get better is to continue to build. I would like to sign up for the next session, which starts in January — but January is when my embryo transfer is tentatively scheduled, so I’m thinking I will probably need to pass. There so much riding upon that singular event that I want to make sure that I’m not doing anything to jeopardize it.

There will be plenty enough time for tennis in the future. In the meantime, I’m sure Joyce won’t mind hitting the ball around with me once in a while. We may not be Venus and Serena Williams, but at least it’s good for some exercise.