Sunset practice, sand still warm

Just came off a sunset set, sand still clinging to the calves and a thrift-store Fleetwood Mac on repeat in the earbuds. I poured a cold espresso into a shaker bottle, watched how you angle your shoulder before a jump — that tiny adjustment makes the whole game easier. I gave Tess a deliberate post-set press on the rotator cuff; her laugh hit the sea air like applause.

I let practice finish with sunscreen rituals these days: slow, mutual, permission wrapped in lotion. Show up on time, bring honesty and a towel; there'll be cheeky competitiveness, breathwork that calms a racing chest, and maybe a hand steadying yours when the light goes soft. If that sounds like trouble you want to train for, the court's got room.