Thursday, May 16, 2013

In a feat as unprecedented as it was perverse, I subjected myself to exercise and sunlight on back-to-back days, which is to say one day right after, like, the other. Is this what able-bodied people normally do, I wonder? I’m just shy of a month into my new, healthier lifestyle, and it’s settled into a very doable routine–three, four hours of tennis in a typical week, five or six in an atypical one. Today, for the first time, I felt fully in control of my limbs. It was revelatory.

This may sound ridiculous to the naturally athletic, but it’s a question of expectations. Normally, when presented with a sport, I know what I’d like to do, but willing my husk of flesh to comply is a different matter. Not so today, when the clay beheld some of my best service ever. I finally got the toss down–not too low, not too high–and as long as I snapped my racquet head at the apex and followed through, I delivered. Point, inhale, crack. There is a moment when the ball is on its way down, right before the moment of impact, when you feel like you are obligated to go apeshit. You want to let roar a primal scream, the exultation of a wild man.

It’s a fantastic feeling. I’ve mentioned before that lung capacity has expanded, and breathing is a pleasure, strangely enough. Sleep has been deep, with a higher level of alertness during the day. The only recent drawback: my left pec has been hurting since yesterday. That’s right. I can talk about pecs now. You’d better fuckin’ believe it.