My sport

By Reina Kita

“Do you miss it?” my friend asks, as we run past the tennis courts at my local middle school.

 “No, not really”, I answer between breaths.

For the past year, it has become my hobby to run to this school and do laps around the track.  Running gives me an escape from the present and the time to focus on my thoughts that I usually avoid. But even those worries, about class, homework, and the future fade away as I gasp frantically for air with every deep breath as my legs ache, and my heart races. Running not only clears my head but drowns out everything else.

Recently, my friend took up this hobby too and started joining me on my spontaneous runs. The track that we run at is located on the edge of the campus, surrounded by tall trees on one side, and a street with cars whizzing by on the other. Along the path of the tracks are three tennis courts. Somehow, the court always seems so freshly painted by an unassuming blue and green, and perfectly crisp white lines. There was a time when I was so infatuated with the court, its lines and the game. 

The objective of tennis is simple: hit the ball over the net so it lands in the opponent’s court, and they are unable to return it. One must maximize their sprint, run, and swings in the space of 27 ft by 39 ft for singles and 36 ft by 39 ft for doubles. But to me tennis is a game that exhausts you physically and mentally. Every missed shot led to a frustration that stopped me from sprinting for a ball. Every loss mixed with personal worries deepened my apathetic attitude toward the sport. Over time the court felt too big and the white harsh lines seemed to be ridiculing me.

 When I realized the passion and purpose towards tennis that I used to have were gone, I knew it was over. 

  In the beginning, quitting felt freeing. No more time-consuming practice. No more pressure. No more disappointing looks from my coaches. However, soon all I could think about was the sensation of hitting the ball with my racket. When all the hours of practice paid off in a perfect shot. I missed my teammates who had laughed with me in times of victory and allowed me to lean on them in times of defeat. Still, I convinced myself that all of that didn’t really matter anymore. I shoved my tennis bag into the back of my closet and when anybody asked me why I quit tennis, I simply replied: “I was too busy with college applications”.  But that wasn’t really the truth. I knew deep down that I had quit because I would keep disappointing the people around me- my parents, teammates, coaches. I was terrified that no matter how hard I tried, I would never be good enough for them and for myself. It was easier to stop, than to struggle and fail. 

As we continue to run around the track and complete another lap, I try to focus on the running. I focus on our breaths and our footsteps. But I can’t avoid it.  I see the tennis court again. “Do you miss it?” The question weighs over my entire body like the exhaustion that grows with every step. I run faster, pushing away the tiredness, hoping to leave the thought behind like I left many others. But it stays. All I can think about is the tennis court that seems so familiar to me.  I slow to a walk. My friend doesn’t notice and runs ahead. I stop and stare at the court. Why was the court right in front of me, inviting me to stand there once again, when all I wanted to do was run away from it?  Breathing in the crisp air, my head is clear. Despite all the setbacks and hours of distress mulling over a practice, a game, one comment from my coach, I wanted to be back there again.  I realize that despite denying it to others, despite what I have tried to convince myself, tennis was my sport. And maybe, just maybe, it’s okay to miss something even if you’re not ready to go back.

Reina Kita is a fresh graduate from high school and has been introduced to the art of creative nonfiction through her running start college class. In her free time she loves to bake, run, and read psychological thriller books.