Heard about Kona Beach Tennis from a buddy while sipping cheap beer at a backyard barbecue last weekend. Sounded like pure chaos – tennis on sand? Had to try it myself. Grabbed my old tennis racket, a tube of sunscreen that expired last year, and drove straight to the beach yesterday morning. No idea what I was doing.
First Time on Sand Disaster
Stepped onto the soft sand near the water, felt my ankles wobble immediately. Couldn’t hardly get a solid footing. Tried bouncing the tennis ball on my racket like usual – completely different game. Sand sucked the bounce right outta that ball. Barely got it knee-high. My first swing? Whiffed entirely. Friend was cracking up already. Sand flew everywhere, nearly blinded us both. Absolute mess.
Gear Was Wrong, Obviously
Should’ve known my regular setup wouldn’t cut it. Realized why Kona players use specific gear:
- My tennis shoes? Useless. Kept filling with sand like little buckets. Ended up barefoot.
- Regular tennis ball? Dead weight. Kona uses a depressurized foam ball that doesn’t die in the sand.
- My heavy racket? Felt like swinging a shovel. Lighter paddles work better, apparently.
Looked like a clown trying to play volleyball with a tennis racket. People walking dogs gave me weird looks.
Actually Hitting the Damn Ball
Stubbornness kicked in. Focused on short little hits instead of big swings. Kept telling my buddy: “Just tap it! Just tap it!” Stopped worrying about fancy footwork – staying upright was victory enough. Started getting some weak little rallies going. Longest rally was maybe four hits? Sand got in our eyes again trying to dive for a shot. Wiped out spectacularly once. Sand stuck to my sunscreen. Glorious.
Why It Actually Rules
Once I stopped trying to make it regular tennis, the charm hit me:
- Way harder to get hurt. Falling on sand doesn’t destroy your knees.
- No pressure. Impossible to look cool out here. Everyone sucks at first.
- Instant vibe. Laughing your butt off > winning points.
We lasted about an hour before heat and thirst kicked our butts. Packed up covered in grit, muscles I forgot existed screaming at me.
Don’t overthink it. Grab the wrong gear. Fail spectacularly. Dig sand outta your ears later. That’s the messy magic of Kona Beach Tennis. Gonna try again next weekend – maybe buy the right ball this time. Maybe not.