Yes, ugh. As much as I hate to announce that, but my coach forgot to tell me that it was Masters, not Juniors. And to do masters, I was suppose to go for 8 tournaments minimum. And I just went for 1.
I was full of confidence and was so in the mood of tennis and this is how it ends… Ehh… its okay, we shall wait for the new season, the new Maria, and the better stamina ( gotta work for it! ) and tennis.
Alas, I have a tournament tomorrow. From noon till 6 pm I will be on the court working my butt off for every single shot. Since I didn’t work out today at all, and yesterday too, I will have a double problem. Wish me luck guys! Because really, I am sick of getting nervous or too excited and then blowing it all off knowing I can kick anyones ass with my experience of tennis and the un-girly power.
Today I had my report card for term two. Nope, I am not gonna brag about it and show you the picture of it. Okay, honestly I would have, but I am just too lazy to get up from my bed and stream the picture from my iPhone. I got 97% which was okay. All A’s but not A+ which I usually like to see in my report card….
Anyhow, please, don’t tell me I am smart, because I work just too hard to be called smart. I am just a girl who puts a lot of effort on doing things. Thats it. Hope you had a good day and a good weekend ahead! As you do know, my weekend already started, please please, again, wish me luck for my tournament 😦
Done with my daily life, I have a poem I wrote at school about tennis. -inserts heart next to tennis- Well you all know how much sickly in love I am with tennis. The adrenaline I get from it, from running, from hitting the ball and kicking the guys ass off by showing that women have a very good  power I just can’t stop loving it. And yes, I will stop now talking about tennis and share this poem with you:
The sound of the ball hitting the ground,
The sound of the strings after bouncing back the ball.
Running and wiring for each and every ball.
How is there nothing to like,
How is there nothing to yearn for?
The vibration of the strings,
The satisfaction of winning.
What can be there not to like in tennis,
What could be there to hate?
Looking at the ball, checking where the player is,
Oops, missed, lost.
The Beat 