Running after tennis balls

I still haven't gotten back into any running routine. I'm waiting for the heat wave to pass...whenever that will be.

But over the weekend I ran as much on the tennis court as I might have done around the lake.

On Saturday I played with Donna on the beautiful clay courts at the Field Club in Longmeadow. Our doubles game fell through, so we decided to hit together. After a while we decided to play some singles.

Way back in the day, I was a speedy singles player, but this is now. Still, it went really well. We both had fun and actually had some real singles points.

Running to the net on clay is so much easier. You hardly feel the stress on your feet. I surprised myself by how easily I got up there.

So there we were playing singles. When we stopped, we talked about how Donna had helped me come back on these very courts. At first she repeatedly reminded me to take only one step in each direction (so I would not fall.) Next time I was allowed to take two steps. And so on and so forth, until this past Saturday, there were no "rules" except to enjoy myself.

Once or twice I glanced over to the next court and watched the yellow ball float against the blue sky. I just loved the sight. Later we talked about how lucky we are to love this game so much. Of course, I said, I should have been looking at the ball on our court, but what can you do.

Yesterday I hit on the hard courts at Mount Holyoke College with a 21-year-old college student and former high school player who was nice enough to put up with me. Seth, my friend Nancy's son (they live in Syracuse, N.Y.) is working at Mount Holyoke for the summer. He's a really nice kid.

We hit for almost two hours. He was out of my league, but I think I gave him some good rallies and practice hitting overheads and serves.

I was getting pretty tired by the end, getting to the point when I should stop already. But I wanted to finish with a good rally. Most of us are like that, but there was an added layer here.

"Do you really need to exhaust yourself trying to impress your friend's 21-year-old son?" I asked myself.

The answer: Yes.

When I got home, I lay down on the floor.