I went to the doctor. Now this in itself, my friends, is a feat. But it is not the worst of my story. I went because of my bad right knee. I'm thinking, surgery? Physical Therapy? Alternative Indian medicines? Oh no. My Doctor's diagnosis was far, far worse.

'Katie, I want you to excercise.' To which I laughed uncontrollably and burst into tears. Excercise? ME?! He's asking me - world champion couch-sitter and potato-chip-eater - to pysically exert myself? INTENTIONALLY?! After I recovered from the initial shock of the news and after sobbing unconsolably for a few more hours, I came to terms with my fate. I had to get off my butt and do something.

So naturally, like an idiot, I chose a method of excercise that actually requires talent, which I am completely devoid of. I picked up tennis. Now that you've all had a good laugh, please pay attention as I share with you my knowledgable and experienced tips on how to play tennis on little to no physical abilities.

Lesson #1: Watch the ball. This seems like a fairly simple thing to do, on the surface, but then again so does quantum physics¹. It's simply a matter of brainpower. All you have to do is make an educated hypothesis as to the approximate air speed velocity and trajectory of the approaching ball, then try to meet said ball with an equal or lesser physical force using a surface area smaller than your average domesticated feline, using an angle at or below 90 degrees. Any average theoretical physicist should be able to pull this off. Once you send the ball sailing inevitably over the fence and right into the unsuspecting eye of a fellow tennis player who calls you less than friendly names, it is your duty - as a professional tennis player - to run away and hide.

Lesson #2: I have found that the single most difficult aspect of learning to play tennis is anger management. Extensive research has proven that if you do indeed miss the ball completely (you have a 99 in 100 chance of doing this) it is not in your best interest to pound your racket on the ground screaming obscenities. This will attract unwanted attention and probably leave you with nothing more than a badly battered racket. Your safest bet when you make a mistake is to calmly apologize for pummeling your partner with the ball for the fifteenth time, and offer to retrieve it. Later, in the privacy of your own home, you may feel free to beat to death whatever inatimate object you like to let off some steam.

Nuts to tennis, I say! I can make it up three flights of stairs and only get slightly winded, so who says I need to excercise anyway?! HUH?! However much energy I put into moving my ham and cheese and bacon bit sandwich from my plate to my mouth is excercise enough for me.

And that, my faithful readers, is all you need to know. So is my choice of excercise helping? Well, my right knee doesn't hurt anymore. But that may be because the rest of the muscles in my body feel like they're being continually fed through a food processor. Curse the doctors for their diagnosis. Curse mother nature for creating me tall, lanky, and clumsy. And curse the tennis racket makers for not creating a racket to suit my needs: three feet by five feet, automated, with a fried chicken dispenser in the handle. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to go ice my 'I missed the ball completely and it pelted me in the forehead' wound.

Your Little h2g2'er,

Darth Zaphod

In Other Words
Archive

14.10.04 Front Page

Back Issue Page