Warming up for winning
Friday afternoon. Sunshine and showers and a howling gale tossing the boats in the Marina about their moorings. A rush to the venue after cutting short my work day and before I had much time to think, the doubles match, postponed from a few days ago, was under way. It was a tough match. Later, Her Ladyship Indoors, who had come along to watch and lend her support said (expletives deleted): "It was like watching you mix concrete with a teaspoon." Always direct, Her Ladyship. But that is pretty much how it felt. Every shot was an effort, every movement felt as if I had a steel reinforcement bar shoved up my jumper, or across my shoulders. I struggled to position the white, every pot was a bonus rather than a given, and even my legs (quite handy for steadying you into perfect balance at your chosen position) felt as if the knees and ankles had seized up with rust. I had been alright half an hour earlier, or so I thought. My doubles partner was not faring muc...