Alright, let me walk you through why I ended up choosing North Jersey tennis spots for training. It all started last winter when I got fed up hitting balls against my garage door – yeah, looked stupid and neighbors complained about the noise too. My old racket was warped from humidity anyway, so I figured screw it, time for real practice.
Checked out three different clubs near my place first. One had cracked courts with weeds growing through, another charged like $500 just to walk through the door. Place in Hoboken? Forget parking, took me 40 minutes circling blocks like a maniac. Was literally going to give up until Dave from work mentioned he drives to North Jersey every Saturday.
Decided to tag along one icy morning, expecting another letdown. First thing hit me? Space. Like huge empty courts everywhere with no waiting lines, and actual maintenance guys fixing nets instead of duct-taping them. Coach Rob saw me shanking forehands into the fence and just walked over casually – no appointment, no fee – spent 20 minutes adjusting my grip. Didn’t even try to sell me anything.
Reasons I kept going back
Real talk: Nobody cares if you suck here. Saw a 60-year-old lady learning serves next to some high school hotshot. Zero judgment vibes.
- Indoor courts don’t smell like locker rooms – actually got working AC unlike that sauna I tried in Secaucus.
- Ball machines that don’t jam every five minutes. Seriously.
- Flexible hours – showed up unannounced Tuesday at 7am and got Court 3 immediately.
- Pro tips free with membership – Rob spotted my weak backhand stance during water break.
After three months grinding there, my tournament results jumped big time. Not gonna lie – I dragged myself those first weeks driving through traffic, but now? I hustle outta bed for it. Saw another dude last month with same “why am I doing this” face I had, so I lent him my extra racket. Two weeks later he’s drilling volleys like a pro. That’s the magic.
Funny thing is, I only signed up because their website said “no commitment trial.” Nearly bailed after free week but realized – hell, I’d already memorized all potholes on Route 17 anyway. Might as well keep smashing balls.