Tennis Court Sanctuary

One of the first things I did when I moved to Leeds was find a group of people to play tennis with, and I have played tennis almost weekly at my local tennis club ever since.

There is a small group of us ladies, of differing ages (across three decades) but similar standard, who show up every Wednesday at 10am to hit a small yellow ball between us for an hour.

It sounds crazy, but we are all so fiercely protective over this time together that we have maintained it for almost 20 years, notwithstanding pregnancy, holidays, family crises, and illness. Between the 7 of us, there's always four who show up, maintain the rituals, strengthen the connections, and participate in the holy time on court 3.

Today, two of us arrived late, frazzled from events that had already unravelled our plans this morning. The other two, kind and patient, easily absorbed the frenetic energy. We seem to take it in turns each time; someone needs to let off steam, someone has capacity to comfort, someone wants to sense check a response to an incident that happened, and there are always, always wise words shared between us.

We spin our rackets to determine our partner, we take our places on either side of the net, and we play tennis.

It's always the same. As the mind focuses on the small yellow ball spinning around as it gets battered over the net, a sense of calm hovers, tentatively, patiently, waiting to enter each of us. Within ten minutes there is a rhythm of our rackets' movements, individually and collectively, as the game starts to take shape.

Between us, we somehow manage to keep score, and each week, when we've forgotten yet again who's turn it is to serve, or whether its 30-40 or 40-30, we laugh and remind ourselves that its not about the score or who wins or loses, it's about just being there. For ourselves, for each other, for our loved ones who are relieved that we return to our jobs and our homes with a calm joy each week, all feeling like winners.