Slicing, dicing and hitting hard

A few of us want to run to get ready for the Saint Patrick's Road Race, but it has just been too cold.

I skipped it last year due to a months-long spate of terrible pain in my quads (caused by prednisone, helped by physical therapy) and would really like to run it this year. I hope that spinning, the dread mill and the runs I have already put in and hopefully some to come will suffice.

Yesterday we had about three hours of tennis: a free doubles strategy session with Michael ("middle," middle" "middle"!) followed by our regular clinic with George. By the end I was pretty tired, but George said he has never seen me play better.

I had really gotten into the flow, and actually all four of us had, leading to the best kind of tennis there is. After a few good angled slices and spins, George asked me "How did you do that?" and I said, "You taught me." He got that little grin.

In drills before playing, everyone was hitting the ball hard. Someone whaled a ball right into my throat, taking my breath away for a second. One of the players who is a nurse said it looked OK. I caught my breath, the other player apologized, and then I kept going.

"There's no crying in tennis," I said.