I’m standing on the deuce side of the tennis court, getting ready to serve in a doubles match. As my partner stares ahead, the two women on the other side of the net look at me—and I just want to die. I squint into the sun and toss the ball in the air, swing, and miss. I try again and hit the ball into the net. My face burns with embarrassment and I profusely apologize. My partner tells me it’s okay and our opponents are sympathetic (as well as being happy to take the point), but still I wonder: Why did I think I could pick up a new sport in my late 30s?
About a year earlier, I’d gotten into a fitness routine, but after too many sessions on the elliptical I felt like a hamster on a wheel. I wanted a new challenge, something active but approachable.
I’d spent most of my life avoiding sports. My natural inclination is to laze. As a kid, my favorite activity at recess was reading a book under a tree. Yet tennis seemed like a fit. You can start with a cheap racquet, there’s no physical contact, the running only comes in short bursts, and there’s a clear goal (get the ball over the net). Then there were the clothes: I am not immune to the charms of a pleated skirt.
I briefly took lessons in middle school, so I was reasonably familiar with its basic concepts. But introducing a new hobby to my routine in my 30s was no small thing. In June, I signed up for group lessons with other beginners. In August, I signed up for a league. I didn’t feel entirely ready, but I was reassured that it didn’t matter. People of all shapes and fitness abilities play tennis, it’s okay to start at zero.
If signing up for lessons felt like ripping off a Band-Aid, then the league was like getting my lips waxed. It was scary, but necessary—lessons are helpful, but playing is how you actually learn and progress. As I would also learn during this period, however, “beginner” is really code for “prepare to lose a lot.”
I’m fortunate enough to live in Atlanta, where we have five leagues to choose from. I started with the Atlanta Lawn Tennis Association (ALTA), which comprises several levels. I was, appropriately, placed on the lowest, and my early matches were lessons in humility: double faults nearly every game, my partners had to remind me where to stand, and I thought about walking off the court and driving away at least once a match. But eventually, without realizing it, I had tapped into what Zen Buddhism calls the “beginner’s mind,” a willingness to learn without judgment.
