![](https://media1.shmoop.com/images/ncaa/TennisThumb.png)
![](https://media1.shmoop.com/images/ncaa/TennisThumb2.png)
Typical Day
Addison "Ace" Love bounces the ball twice, his left foot toeing the baseline. In one fluid motion, he leans back and tosses the fuzzy, fluorescent sphere above his head. Then, when the ball reaches its apex, he strikes. Like a supercharged spring, he uncoils and powers through the unlucky ball. Whoosh.
He carefully picks the yellow fibers from the strings of his racket, like a chimpanzee picking insects from the fur of a friend. Except, you know, with one percent of a difference in DNA…among other things.
![Hey, baby. Wanna pick some fleas off me?](https://media1.shmoop.com/images/ncaa/TennisChimp.png)
Ace readies himself to hit another. Sweat drips from his brow beneath the afternoon sun.
"Nice work, Ace," Coach Dunlop smiles, tossing him a towel. "Let's see some more of that at the tourney on Saturday."
You don't get the nickname "Ace" for having a lackluster serve. In fact, nothing about Ace's game is lackluster. Ace is a born athlete, with basketball height, football power, and horse-racing speed. His prowess on the court is also in part due to his borderline psychotic work ethic. Ace practices tirelessly to perfect every aspect of his game.
"Tireless" is a great quality to have when you have to wake up early enough to make it to indoor workouts at 7:00AM. This morning is all about strength and conditioning training: free weights for bulging biceps, medicine balls for a compact core, and jump rope for fleet feet.
After an hour at the gym, Ace heads to breakfast at the dining hall with his teammates. After inhaling what appears (to the untrained eye) to be at least a half-dozen eggs, it's off to class. Like the rest of his teammates, Ace scheduled all of his classes in the morning to leave room in the afternoon for tennis.
Ace slogs through an hour and a half of English (not tennis = boring), which is directly followed by an hour and a half of biology (also boring). This is one of his mellower days, but he still just barely has time to grab a sandwich and a banana on his way to the outdoor courts for team practice.
Ace, living up to his namesake, starts his warm-up with a few serves. After he's adequately loosened up, Ace reconvenes with Coach Dunlop and the rest of the squad for two hours of group drills. The team hits around for another hour while Ace pays special attention to his footwork and positioning. He practices moving around to hit his massive inside-out forehand.
They finish off the day with everyone's favorite activity—twenty minutes of sprinting lines.
Exhausted and famished, Ace trudges back to the dining hall with his teammate and roommate, Wilson Prince. Over grilled chicken breast and roasted veggies, they banter about the upcoming tournament ("It's the biggest match of the season and coach wants me to play doubles?"), bizarre professor antics, and dorm life.
After dinner, Ace heads over to study hall to start drafting a paper for his English class. As he begins to type, however, he notices a throbbing pain in his right elbow. "Not again," he mutters to himself, trying to stretch it out.
Ace had tennis elbow as a junior in high school, a time when he was playing too much and too often to take adequate care of his body. His form began to slip and he wasn't getting enough rest for his elbow to heal properly.
Since he's been gearing up for this upcoming tournament, Ace has been spending more time on the court than usual. He knows what it feels like to exert too much without getting enough rest. The throbbing achiness in his elbow, unfortunately, is all too familiar.
"I need to ice up," he thinks to himself. "I can't afford to have an injury now."
![An elbow injury is anything but humerus.](https://media1.shmoop.com/images/ncaa/TennisElbow.png)
After typing with his left hand for a while, Ace decides to call it a night. He needs to get some ice on that elbow, sooner rather than later; he has to rest up for another epic day of practice and school tomorrow. Ace falls asleep almost instantly, ice pack still draped around his elbow.
He dreams of the perfect serve…perfect almost to a fault. As ace after ace zips perfectly into the corner of the opposite service box, the racket in his hand feels weightless. The service motion feels effortless. His elbow feels great and he's never been happier.