I heart Daniel

Near perfect day here in Buenos Aires.  Good omen to start the day-- the lady who runs (or owns) the space where my yoga classes are taught kissed me hello.  Normally, I ring the bell, she opens the door, stares grumpily at me and then lets me in.  I'm always a bit amused when she hesitates: as if there are that many tall American women with short afros ringing her bell.  It's common practice to kiss someone when you greet them here.  This means that if you are a waiter just coming onto your shift, you make the rounds and kiss all of the other employees before putting down your bag and getting to work.  It can seem dramatically inefficient at first glance, but now that I am used to it, it's kind of endearing.

I had an accidentally private yoga class.  No other student managed to show up this morning, so my cool yoga teacher and I had a marathon class which lasted nearly 2 hours.  I have a lot to work on.  I also might not be able to walk tomorrow.

After yoga, I rushed home to eat lunch.  During last week's tennis lesson, I suffered in the heat and I attributed some of my sluggishness to yoga, but, in fact, it probably had more to do with a lack of nourishment.  Today I wanted to be on my toes for my final lesson with Daniel.

[Inexplicable Michael Jackson billboard near the tennis club]

Daniel was in fine form today.  He was kind of nice to me, so I immediately assumed he was buttering me up for something, but since I'm leaving, I'm not sure exactly what he thought he was going to get from me.  He started off the lesson with a list of all of the things I had to remember when I played tennis "in some other place."  I assume this means when I play tennis away from his watchful eye.  Most of all, he wants me not to revert to the two handed backhand nonsense.  Okay, Daniel.

He seemed extraordinarily pleased and amused by the story of the 4 and 5 year old campers harassing me as I hit against the fronton at Parque Norte.  Imagine a respectable looking 50-something year old dancing around the court, laughing and pointing at me.  He was so amused, in fact, that I now suspect he paid all of those little darlings to say demoralizing things to me.

We had a great lesson.  My ground strokes have really improved.  We were able to rally back and forth for sometimes as many as 10-12 swings.  That's a miracle for me.  Daniel kept up a running commentary which mostly went like this:  "Don't rush this ball, Annie.  Don't rush it.  Oh, no!  You hit it in the net.  That's because you were too late.  Next time, don't wait so long."  Daniel also proclaimed my progress "out of the ordinary."  This may have been a way to imply that I have been using steroids since he squeezed my biceps as we spoke (and probably wondered about the quality of the steroids....).  I'll never know what goes on in his head.  But I assure you, good readers, that I have resisted the steroid temptation.

So, why do I heart Daniel?  Is is the emotional torture?  The bicep squeezing?  The hired 4 and 5 year old hit men?   I think it's because he never gives an inch: the end of the lesson came after Daniel hit a drop shot which I couldn't come close to running down.  He raised his hands in victory.  Kisses all around.  Goodbye Daniel.  And no, I won't fall prey to the two handed backhand.

[An old photo.  Today's request for another picture was promptly denied.]