Look—it ain’t no Oscar, but ask me if I care, lol.
Ok folks, so I know it’s been a while since I’ve checked in on my Weight Loss Diary and that’s about to change. We’re in summer 2010 mode now so there are no unpleasant surprises when we try to put on our swimsuit this summer, if you know what I mean—but I’ll get to that later.
Today it’s all about triumph. Yeah, triumph.
After a year of convincing myself not to play in several tennis tournaments, I finally just did it.
Yes, your girl got her ass kicked in last Saturday’s Blue Gray tournament hosted by the Rancho Cienega Tennis Club at the Arthur Ashe Tennis Center of Los Angeles, but it’s all good. Why? Because I finally made steps towards conquering my stage fright of playing tennis competitively in front of other people and with people much better than I am. For some people that may seem like no big deal but for me, it’s a big deal. I can give a speech in front of a thousand people and not think twice about it or second-guess myself, but ask me to play tennis in front of one person and I get weak in the knees. For someone trying to improve her game that can be very problematic.
And even though I played in the tournament on Saturday, let me tell you that I stalled and waiting until the last moment before actually entering.
The Blue Gray tournament is all about pairing new players with not so new players in a doubles round robin. In other words, I was the blue player on my team, the weakest link if you will. But I held my own. I made some good shots and some not so good shots. I had a great partner for whom I wouldn’t have made it through without his constant support and no pressure attitude.
In the end, at 32 years old, I won 4th place and now own my first trophy for anything sports related because as you know, back in the day they didn’t give out awards for kicking ass. You just got street cred.
So in typical fashion I rushed over to my fan club president’s house after the tournament to share the good news so that she could get on the horn and tell the other members of the club. Sweaty, smelly, and tired, but grinning from cheek to cheek like I won first place or something, lol, and holding my gold colored trophy like it was one of Willy Wonka’s Golden Five Golden Tickets, my ever so pessimistic fan club president also known to me as my grandmother asked, “4th place, what are you so proud of that for?”
Anyone who has been to my house and inside my home office knows that my walls and shelves are covered with awards—all of which are very important to me. However, none of them have anything to do with anything sports related. Remember—I am the same person who drove around parking lots and waited for a spot to open up closest to the entrance of the wherever it was I was going. I am also the same person who was on a first name basis with the men and women who worked in the drive thru at my local McDonald’s where I faithfully ordered a 10-piece chicken (my ass) McNuggets, fries, a strawberry shake, and two apple pies until I was one order away from a size 24.
So yeah, it ain’t no Oscar, and yes it’s 4th place, but like Kanye West—you can’t me nothing—that is about my gold colored trophy which I just recently stopped carrying in purse and am now searching for a new shelf to put up in my office just for it. Until I find that shelf, I think I’ll just leave it on the nightstand by my bed.
Who knows, if I can get this ass into high gear, my gold colored 4th place trophy may have some company before the end of the year.