What is This "Racquet" Thing of which You Speak?

This final unit of gym has been a rather charming surprise. And not because we've been playing tennis. The first day, we learned about proper grip. If I have to hear "You shake hands with the racquet" one more time, my handshake might become a little loose. The second day, it was approximately 30 degrees out, no class. The third day, it was snowing and ice sleeting at the same time, no class. The fourth day, it was beautiful, nice 50 degree weather out, not a cloud anywhere, and guess what? The nets are down, no class. Today, the fifth day out of nine total, they were resurfacing the courts. Nate, don't call me Nathaniel, Nate, our teacher pulled a great many strings (no pun intended) and got us onto the indoors courts, where apparently, they hate you if you don't give them money. So, we learned about forehands, just forehands. And, it was strange, but muscle memory is remarkable. I haven't picked up a racquet since fall 2005. Almost two years ago. But I knew what I was doing. And not just the basic, remember to follow through, sort of thing. We had those people who, horror of horrors, had no non-marking shoes, throwing balls at us, and I moved to hit the balls without thinking about it. That's vaguely disturbing for a thinker like me. I don't remember thinking, "Oh, it'll be easier to hit the ball if I move like this." I just moved. Talk about a Jedi moment. That was, however, the highlight of gym class. In between, I had to deal with things like running, I DON'T FUCKING RUN FOR GYM CLASS, NATHANIEL!!, hopper repair, and the "OOOOOs" of people who'd never seen a hopper pick up balls before. Ah, well, only four more classes and I have two skips left.