Monday, 01 April 2002 | Neck brace

During college, I was required to take four physical education classes: "PE 100," a running/weight-lifting nightmare that was forced on everyone, and three electives. I ended up taking bowling (which was by far my favorite), target archery (during which I was perpetually bruised from snapping the bow's chord repeatedly on my forearm), and tennis. I'd played tennis for a year in high school, but I signed up for beginner's tennis anyway, since I didn't know what to expect of the intermediate class.

Two weeks into the first semester of my freshman year, I got into a careless wreck in which I'd made the glass of my windshield spider by banging it with my tough little head. I wasn't hurt badly, but for a few weeks following the accident I was told I had to wear a neck brace, a scarlet letter to attest to my offense.

So I did what I understand kids do with headgear: I wore the neck brace at home but religiously removed it before going in public. My tennis class was the only exception. I didn't want to permanently screw up my neck for freshman year vanity, so I wore the giant white collar while on the court swinging my racket around. Apparently the tennis coach saw the combination of the neck brace and my relative skill as an opportunity to raise the morale of the class, as he was fond of declaring, "If the girl with the neck brace can do it, you all can do it!"

Tonight I played tennis for the first time this year, actually the second time in two years, and my body sort-of half-remembered what it was supposed to do when that little yellow ball came flying at it. Most of it was warming up or becoming sluggish from exhaustion, but there was a small window in which it felt natural to be out there, the ball and the racquet made that hollow-sounding connection, and the net didn't appear to be abnormally high. But then my energy melted into a sticky puddle on the court that grabbed at the soles of my inappropriate shoes, and my motivation slid away.