Alright, so this whole ‘June Bjork tennis’ chapter. It wasn’t some grand, well-thought-out strategy, believe me. It just sort of… happened. June hit, and I was feeling cooped up, you know? Needed to move, to do something physical that wasn’t just pacing around my living room.
Getting Started (or Stumbling, Rather)
So, tennis. I used to play a bit, years ago. Figured it’d be like riding a bike. Wrong. First thing was digging out my old racket. Found it in the back of the closet, strings probably as old as I am. But hey, it was a start.
Then there was the ‘Bjork’ part. That’s what I started calling the local public court. Not its real name, obviously. But it was a bit… unconventional. Cracked pavement here and there, net sagged a bit on one side, and it always had this weird, slightly melancholic vibe, kinda like some of her music, if you get me. Plus, it was always available, which tells you something.
The Actual ‘Practice’ Part
My first few outings to the ‘Bjork’ court were, frankly, a comedy of errors. Balls flying into the next county. My serve? More like a gentle lob into the net. My feet felt like they were encased in concrete. It was humbling, to say the least.
I didn’t have a coach or anything fancy. Just me, myself, and I, and a bucket of slightly flat tennis balls I bought cheap. My routine was pretty basic:
- Warm-up: Which mostly consisted of me trying not to pull a muscle just by swinging the racket. Lots of awkward lunges and arm circles.
- Forehands: Trying to just hit the ball consistently over the net. Spent ages on this. The ‘Bjork’ court had this one spot where the bounce was super unpredictable. Kept me on my toes, literally.
- Backhands: My nemesis. I swear, my backhand had a mind of its own. Mostly it wanted to send the ball anywhere but where I intended.
- Serves: Oh, the serves. Started by just trying to get it in. Forget power, forget spin. Just… in the box. Many, many balls ended up in the fence, or gently rolling to the net.
I’d go out there maybe three, four times a week. Early mornings mostly, before it got too hot and before too many people could witness the disaster. The ‘Bjork’ court was quiet then. Just me and the pigeons.
Little Wins and Observations
Slowly, very slowly, things started to improve. I remember the first time I hit ten forehands in a row over the net and in. Felt like winning Wimbledon. Seriously. My serve eventually started landing in the service box more often than not. Still not a weapon, but at least it wasn’t an immediate point for my imaginary opponent.
One funny thing about the ‘Bjork’ court – there was this one old guy who’d sometimes watch from a bench. Never said anything, just watched. Made me a bit self-conscious at first, but then I figured, what the heck. Maybe he was getting a good laugh.
The “practice” wasn’t structured. It was messy. Some days I’d just hit serves for an hour because I was so frustrated with them. Other days I’d just rally against the backboard (well, the fence, really, since the ‘Bjork’ court didn’t have a proper backboard).
Where I’m At Now
So, that was my June ‘Bjork’ tennis experience. By the end of the month, was I ready for the pro tour? Absolutely not. Was I significantly better than when I started? Yes, definitely. I could hold a rally, my serve was semi-reliable, and most importantly, I was actually enjoying it.
The ‘Bjork’ court, with all its imperfections, became my little sanctuary. It taught me patience, that’s for sure. And that sometimes, just showing up and whacking a ball around, even badly, is better than not doing anything at all. I still go, though not as religiously as I did in June. But that month, that was the real push I needed.
