Thursday 10 January 2019

Chapter 119 : International Women's Tennis Tournament

I enter the concrete colosseum with my daughter Christine.       

We are to watch two women players from Europe ranked amongst the best players in the world play a singles match.

We know nothing about either player and don’t instinctively support either. They both are very similar. Physically fit and strong. Tall, muscular and sun tanned. Hair unfashionable and under control. Hair band or sun visor. They move athletically. Confident in their bodies.  They are much better at playing tennis than most of us watching. I enjoy watching these players because they are physically aware, strong, powerful and skillful. They show us what we are capable of.

One serves to begin the match and immediately differences emerge. One is unreliable with hard, powerful shots and a weak backhand.  The other one is more consistent. Hitting not as powerfully but her serve and ground shots are more reliable.

I say to Christine, “With a weak backhand you can still win. You try and avoid your weaknesses and take advantage of the things you are good at.  It’s like life.”

Christine then states the obvious, “Her back hand may be her weakness but it’s much better than yours.”

Along with their techniques their personalities begin to surface. The one with the unreliable technique also tends to have a more erratic personality. Her frustration begins to manifest itself to us and more importantly to her opponent.

I say to Christine, “One player is having trouble concentrating. When I can’t concentrate I think of one point at a time. I think next point I must get the ball back into the court.”Christine says, “Better tell her not to throw the racquet the way you do. Tell her it doesn’t help.”

I then say, “I would agree. It doesn’t help you win.”

Christine then says, “I’m confused now. Are you telling me what to do or what you do?”

We then watch the tennis without speaking. The ball bounces from end to end.  The thump thump sound coming from a tennis match is a beautiful, relaxing noise. No sport ever sounded so good.
We wander to the outside courts. I want to get close enough to smell, feel and hear the players. I want to sense their humanity.  There are no matches on outside courts so we go back to the center court and a new match.

Another two players new to us. We watch them hit up.

Who will win will depend on so many factors.

Where did they sleep last night? Was there bed comfortable and the room quiet? What happened before retiring? Did they eat or drink anything which will affect them today?

Where is their home town? Is it hot, dry and dusty or cold, wet and prone to snow?

Who are their coaches? Do the coaches have many other players in their squad? What is the relationship between coach and player like?

What is their relationship with family and friends like? Have they spoken on the phone to anybody immediately prior to the match? What did they say on the phone?

What color socks are they wearing? The tennis world is full of people with lucky socks or lucky charms.

What is their tennis experience?  How long have they been playing? Who have they played against? What type of competition have they had? What is their ranking?

You can do everything right yourself but the result also goes depends on your opponent. You can play to your potential. Achieve perfection and still lose if your opponent is a better tennis player.

I start talking to Christine about the opposing techniques and how they match up against each other and who I think will win and Christine raises her eyebrows and plays with her phone.

Christine then hands me her phone and shows me a message which says, “You are not at home watching TV. You are surrounded by people who don’t want to listen to your comments.”

I think I am surrounded by people who feel the same as me about tennis. I love tennis because it’s more than just a game. It’s a battle between two people. With different personalities, cardiovascular fitness, techniques, emotional status and knowledge.

And it’s a game you can both watch and play.










Sunday 6 January 2019

Chapter 118 : Bikes and Spikes


A few weeks ago I entered the Bikes and Spikes online.

The website asked me for my best recent time over the distance. I entered a time as accurately as I could.

I’m sure they will check and besides I’ve got nothing to hide.

I entered the 800m Master’s handicap event. Handicap by distance not time.  Not weight for age. Everybody will start at the same time.  I will find myself starting few hundred meters ahead of a back marker.  I will run less than 8oom. Everybody will try and go past me. The “also runs” will start in front of the talented runners.  I will be overtaken by some. How many?  I have to adjust to having the field behind me and coming at me.

Normally when I run everybody starts together and I settle down amongst runners of a similar speed. I then focus on a person in front of me and imagine a string connecting us together. I imagine them dragging me along. This coming race will be different. I will be out in front and strive to hold everybody off. I need to prevent them passing me. I need to imagine something new. I will be the hunted hound fighting to keep ahead of the foxes.

The handicapper is aiming for a blanket finish. Everybody finishing together sounds good to me.
In the weeks before my race I practice for the race. By running. Running seems to be good practice for a running race. I practice sprinting around a circular track. How do I practice running around a track with a noisy crowd.

Every time I hear spikes on the radio I galvanize and listen and then it turns out to be about spiking of drinks.

The big day of the Hobart Bikes and Spikes Carnival arrives and before my race I wander then sit in the grandstand and watch.

Runners wear colored vests. Sprinters wear colored vests crouch tensely. When the gun explodes they spring into action. Powerful leg muscles stride down the lanes with arms swinging. Looks beautiful. From the side some forge ahead. The field separates into fastest and just fast. From the front each runner is a bundle of active muscles. Tensing and lengthening.  Arms swing wide for a lunge at the finish gate.

Bikes controlled by helmets, sunglasses and velcro shorts and shirts and focused ahead glide around the velodrome. Legs pump like pistons as they propel the smooth sliding machines at speed around the velodrome.  

The announcements are ceaseless. They broadcast each race.  Telling us the names of the cyclists and runners.  At the marshaling area I greet other runners. Most of them I recognize. There are fourteen in my race.

I crotch behind the starting line. The gun goes off. I am by myself. Nobody to comfort me. Please be fast.  Breathe deeply. Swing arms wide. Take big long steps.  A guy overtakes me very quickly and gives me something to chase.   

I’ve got to go faster. Legs stride bigger.  Reach out further. Stride longer. Longer and even longer.  Legs go faster. Go quicker. Lungs breathe deeper. Breathe out bigger.
The announcer continues announcing for the watching crowd.  After the race I have no idea what he says. I’m focused.

I can hear more breathing behind me. It’s getting closer. I’ve got to speed up. I will stop them passing me. The breathing is getting closer. I can see them now. Next to me. Now past me. I’ll hang onto him. Repass him. I can’t catch him. I can hear the crowd yelling. They are yelling for me. I won’t let them down. I’ll catch this guy. Get back in front of him. He’s going away from me. I can hear more breathing behind me.

I’m coming around the corner. I can see the finish line. I sprint. I increase my stride. I increase leg speed. I increase my arms swinging.

I finish. The result is I came fifth out of fourteen.  Sounds good to me. I am exhausted. I didn’t know I could breathe so deeply. I rest my hands on my legs.  I shake hands with the other guys. They’ve all done what I did. They have all done a great job.