I remember the feeling of my body baking under the summer sun and then the relief when one cloud would cover the sun and a breath of cool air would seem to refresh in the midst of a match. Especially at Rochdale where there were no trees or shaded areas. The heat seemed to bake into your skin and eyes and then a cloud would cover the sun and it seemed the best refreshment for the moment.
It is spring today in January, maybe they call it Indian summer, down here, but I call 69 degrees a heat wave. I am so glad that I got outside to make acquaintance with a little cloud who reminded me of a cloud that I met when I was a child and playing the longest match of my life. I played and played and it seemed the only relief was that little cloud and I thought I wouldn’t make it another step 3 hours of constant pushing, as they teased us that we were. A bunch of little pushers. Just one more ball over the net. Dad said I couldn’t do it. He was the boss, and I did it. I beat Margo Smiley. 3 hours and I had beaten her. He couldn’t believe that I could beat somebody grown up like that, in the heat of the Rochdale sun. The sun was nearly down when we finished and I was glad it was. I was too hot for words and there was no word for the sense of elation that I had won over my own limitations of myself. I am my worst enemy;now as well as then. Catching a second wind.
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