My Messy Tennis Journey Start
So I stumbled on this story about K Pannu picking up tennis late, and I thought, heck, maybe I should try it too. Always felt like a fancy sport for rich folks, but his story sounded different. Here’s how my “beginner journey” actually went down.
Step one? Buying the gear. Walked into this huge sports store feeling like a total fraud. The rackets! So many choices. Saw one that looked kinda cool and wasn’t insanely pricey. Sales dude asked about grip size. I just stared blankly. “Whatever feels okay,” I mumbled. Grabbed some cheap, bright yellow balls too. They looked friendlier.
- Tried watching beginner YouTube videos first. Looked easy enough. Stand sideways, bend knees, swing smooth. “Piece of cake,” I thought.
- First court session was…humbling. Went to the free public courts near my house. Super early. Didn’t wanna embarrass myself in front of people. Tried bouncing the ball with the racket. Lost it like ten times in two minutes.
- Then I tried hitting against the practice wall. Wham! Ball flies wildly left. Wham! Soars over the fence. Wham! Barely touches the racket frame. Felt like a total loser. Couldn’t even hit it straight. Got so frustrated I almost quit right there.
Nearly gave up, seriously. Sat on the hard concrete bench thinking, “This is stupid. Stick to walking.” Drank some water, felt defeated. Then remembered Pannu’s story talked about sticking through the sucky parts. Took a deep breath. Walked back to that stupid wall.
Told myself to slow down. Way down. Forget trying to smash it like the pros on TV. Just. Make. Contact. Focused on looking at the ball, not where it might go. Stopped caring where it bounced. Just watch the ball. Swing smoother, not harder. Was actually sweating more from concentration than effort.
- Started counting hits. Aim for just one decent hit. Nailed it! Okay, aim for two in a row. Managed it, barely. Third was a disaster. But that feeling when I finally got two? Felt electric.
- Stopped worrying about form. Stopped thinking so much. Just reacted. The ball, my eyes, the racket. Felt clumsy but less terrible. Made contact more often than not, even if it wasn’t pretty.
- Ended that session hitting maybe five back. Five lousy, ugly hits in a row against the wall. You’d think I won Wimbledon with the stupid grin I had. Packed up feeling exhausted but buzzing. Didn’t look like Federer, didn’t play like anyone good, but felt like progress.
That’s where I’m at now. Still trash, obviously. Going back to that wall three times a week. Still chasing more balls than I hit cleanly. But every now and then, I get a rhythm going – just me, the racket, that fuzzy yellow ball going thwack-thwack-thwack against the wall. It’s addictive. That tiny bit of consistency? That’s my version of a “beginner success story” so far. Long, long way to go, but I’m hitting the wall, literally and figuratively. And you know what? It feels pretty darn good.
