Cripes am I tired.
Picture this: a middle-aged woman, Ms. Positively Radical, fit but not athletic by any standards, never played a ball sport, never played a sport period. Cheerleading doesn’t count, at least not what we called cheerleading back in the day. Disco dancing doesn’t count – although if I were doing that 3 times a week it would definitely be a sport and I’d have dancer’s legs – if this were 1980 and discos still existed. Walking the dog doesn’t count. It’s a weiner dog, ’nuff said. Pilates doesn’t count. I’m sorry Pilates people. I took the classes, I bought a reformer, I still use it. It’s great for stretching and toning but it’s not a workout. Walking really doesn’t count. I can get tired out and break a light sweat walking but it takes a looooong walk. I don’t have that kind of time. My feet don’t have that kind of time.
Ping pong. Table tennis. That’s where I get my workout. Don’t laugh, I ain’t lying.
Regular ol' ping pong
Started as a social thing. A few friends have tables, we’d play after dinner or something. Play like you all imagine ping pong playing – just tapping a ball back and forth lightly, chasing the runaway balls and laughing. Maybe some drinking would be involved. Definitely eating. Eating and drinking. Hitting a few balls, having some yucks.
Ping Pong is Tres Chic, non?
Then a couple of the friends found a local club. A CLUB. A ping pong club. Yes, they do exist, can you imagine that? The friends were positively giddy (not Positively Radical, that would be me), and they promptly joined the club and let me know that my husband and I HAD to go check it out, because they had REAL players, who could beat all our asses, even my husband’s cuz he’s the best of all our friends.
Well that got my husband’s attention (from now on let’s call my husband Mr. Positively Radical, or Mr. PR for short). Anyway, Mr. PR was intrigued, so we visited the club the following weekend.
Oh. My. God. Y’all. Really. About 30 people were in this gymnasium pinging and ponging away like there was no tomorrow. And at a level theretofore unbeknownst to us. Like Olympic-type level. Seriously I was scared. There was grunting and sweating and fancy moves and these folks looked like they were hopped up on some kind of drug.
Are these men on drugs?
Before I knew what happened, I had purchased an expensive paddle and signed up for lessons. (To be continued — Dun! Dun! Dunnnn!!!)