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Finding Zen on the court, point by point.
By Taylor Plimpton
Every now and then, if you play enough tennis, a kind of mystical flow can be found—a Zen-like zone where you can seemingly do no wrong. You swing away freely, every shot you hit is crisp, your feet float across the court. Best of all, your self-critical, loudmouth ego has finally quieted. You feel a happy fatigue in your limbs, the sunshine on your skin; there is the pop of the tennis ball against your racket, the smell of summer in the air. You are, for once, wholly present.
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