"At least you, um....at least you can run!"

One of my goals during my time in Buenos Aires is to take tennis lessons.  My parents can play, my brother is a good tennis player and I've practically been banned from owning a racquet.

I found the name of an Argentine tennis teacher on the internet.  Other expats who have taken lessons from him emphasized that he was very focused on technique and a little more expensive than other folks but that he speaks English.  Okey, dokey.

His name is Daniel and he's in his late 40s or early 50s.  He used to be an amateur champion here and I think he must work for the national team or something because he has traveled all over the world with his "students."  First, he chastized me for being late (I was, you guessed it, lost) and then he tried to teach me to play tennis.... in castellano.  The language thing turned out to be fine.  His body language was enough for me to understand when I was doing something completely wrong or just slightly wrong and I had already looked up some of the terminology.

Daniel kept asking me why I was smiling but I was too out of breath to explain both that I was happy to be there but also that my high school track and volleyball coaches required smiling at all times... even if it was just before you vomited from exertion or exhaustion.  I guess that habit has just stuck with me.  He probably thinks I need to be medicated.

All in all, I had  a great time: it was humiliating, exhausting, exhilirating and challenging.  Daniel's a tough cookie but I like that.  At one point, he was clearly trying to come up with a compliment... and managed to squeak out "Welll, at least you, um, at least you can.... run!"  Yes, Daniel.  At least I can run and I can smile like a lunatic.

The site of the humiliation.  I'll try to get a picture of Daniel once I get up the nerve.

In other news:

                              Milk comes in bags, too.

There's an entire aisle (plus a full shopping cart!!) for Crystal Light.

The great scientific count: 13