Tennis,
I played you for ten years of my life. I went to countless clinics, and spend hours upon hours hitting against a wall. I understood that my height wasn’t a help but I managed to compensate for that by being able to move quickly. I did all of this, and then I decided to leave you in the dust.
Why?
I didn’t feel the love for you that I once did. I felt something that was closer to resentment than love. I was never okay with playing college tennis. I wanted to, I desperately wanted to. I wanted to have fun. But that never worked out.
My first season, the Fall (short) season, I was a freshman in my first weeks of high school. I felt like I had no friends. I didn’t feel like I had a support system, and tennis wasn’t as helpful with that as it usually was. I was expected to bring my own support system. My confidence in practice and on the court was limited.
Spring, 2015, was the regular season (or the long season). It was awful. I played tennis three times a week (at least) between the beginning of February to the beginning of May. It stopped being fun and became a chore. I told myself I could get through it; I had a bribe in mind. There was a dream I needed to follow. I got through tennis ultimately by telling myself that I never had to pick up a racket after that.
I played Fall of 2015. I knew I was done before I started the season. I knew that I was in my final season. I resigned January of 2016.
I don’t know what happened to tennis. Life moved on. My life no longer needed a sport. I needed something else and I plan on going after that. I needed a further challenge.
I probably will pick up a racket in my post-college life. I’d love to coach. I’m just not at a point of my life where I wish to play.
Tennis, thank you. You gave me so much and allowed me to move past you and into another chapter of my life.