As I started to do a lot of fitness I gained a little bit more

Host: The afternoon sun hung low over the tennis court, golden light spilling across the lines and nets. The air was thick with the smell of clay, sweat, and the distant hum of cicadas. The sound of a racket cutting through air was sharp, precise, then followed by the thud of a ball meeting earth.

Jack stood near the baseline, shirt damp, hands tense on the racket handle, his grey eyes focused but distant, as if he wasn’t just watching the ball, but remembering something.

Jeeny sat on the bench beside the court, water bottle in hand, her hair pulled back, cheeks flushed from the sun. A scrap of paper, slightly creased, fluttered beside her bag, with a quote scribbled in blue ink:

“As I started to do a lot of fitness I gained a little bit more strength and I was a little bit slow around the court.” — Bernard Tomic

Host: The moment was quiet, save for the pulse of the sun, the breath of the wind, and the unspoken metaphor hiding in those simple words.

Jeeny: “You know, I think I get what he means. You can’t gain something without losing something else. Strength comes at the cost of lightness.”

Jack: (setting the racket down, smirking slightly) “Or maybe it means he was training wrong. Strength shouldn’t make you slow, Jeeny. It should make you dangerous.”

Jeeny: (grinning) “You always have to make it practical, don’t you? Not everything’s about performance. Sometimes it’s about balance.”

Jack: “Balance is what people talk about when they’re afraid of pushing too hard.”

Jeeny: “And pushing too hard is what breaks people. Look at Tomic—he got stronger, sure, but he lost his fluidity, his instinct. Maybe that’s what life does to us too. We build armor and forget how to move.”

Host: The wind picked up, carrying dust from the clay into the air, glittering in the light like tiny embers. Jack walked to the bench, tossed his towel over his shoulder, and sat down beside her.

Jack: “So you’re saying it’s better to be fragile and fast than strong and slow?”

Jeeny: “No. I’m saying it’s better to be human—to bend, not just resist. You can be strong, but not so stiff that you forget how to flow.”

Jack: “You sound like a poet with a yoga mat.”

Jeeny: (laughs) “Maybe. But think about it. When you were younger, you probably had speed, recklessness, energy. Now you’ve got discipline, control—but maybe a little less fire. Isn’t that the same as what Tomic said?”

Jack: “Yeah… maybe it is.” (pauses, looking toward the net) “Funny thing is, I used to play tennis in college. Not great, but good enough to feel alive. Back then, I didn’t think, I just moved. Now everything’s calculated, every swing a decision instead of a reaction.”

Jeeny: “That’s what growing up does—it teaches you how to think, but sometimes it kills your instinct.”

Host: The sunlight slanted lower, casting long shadows across the court—two figures, both still, yet restless.

Jack: “You ever feel like that? Like you’ve trained your soul so much to be strong that you’ve lost some of your grace?”

Jeeny: “All the time. When I was younger, I’d jump into things—love, work, dreams—without hesitation. Now, I’m measured, careful. I’ve gained wisdom, but I’ve lost that wildness that made me alive.”

Jack: “So, what’s the answer then? Stay wild and reckless, or get strong and stable?”

Jeeny: (quietly) “Maybe the answer isn’t to choose. Maybe it’s to train both. To be strong enough to endure, but light enough to change.”

Host: The sound of a ball bouncing in a nearby court broke the silence—a reminder that the world was still in motion, even if they weren’t. Jack picked up the racket, twirling it in his hand, watching the light glint off the strings.

Jack: “You ever notice how athletes talk about strength like it’s the only measure of success? But maybe it’s grace that keeps you in the game.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Strength wins a match. Grace wins a career.”

Host: The words settled between them, heavy, true, like dust finally falling after a long storm.

Jack: “When I first started this garage business, I was all speed—no planning. I’d jump, fix, build, without thinking. Then I got burned. Lost money, clients, almost the shop itself. After that, I got stronger, more disciplined, more cautious. But somewhere in that process, I also got… slower.”

Jeeny: “And that’s okay, Jack. You’re not meant to stay fast forever. You’re meant to evolve. The trick is not to mistake your strength for stagnation.”

Jack: “So, what? Accept that the pace has changed?”

Jeeny: “No. Accept that you’ve changed. The game is different now. You’re not the kid chasing the ball; you’re the one who knows where it’s going to land.”

Host: The sun dipped, painting the sky in streaks of tangerine and rose. A bird crossed overhead, its wings cutting through the light with effortless rhythm.

Jack stood, rolled his shoulders, and tossed a ball into the air. The swing was clean, measured, but this time—fluid.

The ball sailed, kissed the line, and bounced back high, a perfect serve.

Jeeny: (smiling) “See? Strength and grace. You’ve still got both.”

Jack: (exhaling, smiling faintly) “Maybe. Or maybe I just stopped fighting one to keep the other.”

Host: The light softened into dusk, the court now bathed in the blue-grey hue of memory. The wind carried the last echoes of their laughter, blending with the sound of the ball as it rolled gently to the net—a small, perfect balance between motion and rest.

Host: And as the sky darkened, it was clear—the lesson wasn’t about speed or strength, but about rhythm. That in life, as in tennis, you can be stronger, slower, yet somehow, still in the game—if you learn to move in harmony with who you’ve become.