Okay, so you know all about my big blunder on the tennis court in front of all my peers.  (see June 20th post)  I met a new friend that day and she and I have been playing pretty consistently.  She was out of town yesterday, so I thought I’d drop in at the group class once more, so I could connect with some other new friends and possibly get a good workout.  Same instructor as last time.  Since I’ve had a good bit of practice over the last several weeks, I’ve made some fair progress and after I had hit quite a nice shot across the court, the instructor turned to me and said, “you’re improving every time you hit the ball,” with a sort of, ‘I can’t believe it, but it’s true’ tone.  The moment the words came out of his mouth, I felt something POP in my left calf.  Uh-oh.  I couldn’t walk.  I tried to defy it, but I was incapacitated.  I hopped over to the side and begged out, pleading with him not to interrupt the classes’ momentum but “I think I pulled a muscle.” 

So what does he do?  Gracious man that he is, he stops the entire class.  Tells everyone to pick up all the balls.  (I became the official Party-Pooper.)  Asks that someone come assist me to the side.  Removes the huge ice pack from his injured leg and asks a student to please help me to apply the cold pack to my muscle immediately.  The drama caused me to break out in a nervous sweat.  “Wanna Get Away?!  YES!“ So I sat in the sun for the last 20 minutes of the class while everyone who walked or ran by called out, “you o.k.?”  “Need anything?”  and all the other obligatory condolences one gives to be nice.  Argh.  I’ve never pulled a muscle in my life that I can recall.  I never stretch my muscles before tennis.  I’ve never been a forty-something tennis player.  Didn’t occur to me.  Argh.  How long will I be benched?  Can I ever come back to this class without dark glasses?  Humble pie.  Drats.

So now I must hop/limp everywhere.  Just got back from Trader Joes with my frustrated 13-year old, bless him.  After all, how fast can one hop and shop?  Icing/heating/icing the leg.  No exercise which means I can’t consume as much as I like - and I love to eat.  Hubby sweetly calls me his little “Hop-a-long”.  I’m hoping I won’t be hopping for long!   Hope none of you are hopping, either - ha.  ‘Hoppy’ Saturday, everyone!

This entry was posted on Saturday, July 19th, 2008 at 1:51 am and is filed under Life in the Fishbowl: ministry wives, Mom's Home: domesticity. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.