Zombie Mode

I'd been popping those neon orange vitamin gummies for three days straight, trying to survive what everyone at school was calling The Pael Apocalypse. It was the biggest tournament of the year, and I'd somehow made it to semifinals while running on caffeine and panic.

The sun beat down on the outdoor courts, reflecting off the artificial turf until everything looked bright and blurry. I felt like a zombie—honestly, a literal one, shuffling between points while my opponent, this sophomore named Tyler who definitely already had college recruiters watching him, moved like he'd never heard of exhaustion.

"You good, man?" he asked between sets, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

I nodded, because admitting you're dying is basically social suicide. But my dog back home had more energy than me right now, and she spent 22 hours a day napping on the couch.

Third set. Match point. My legs burned, my racket felt like it weighed fifty pounds, and I was seriously considering just letting the ball hit me so I could collapse dramatically.

Then I saw it—Tyler's water bottle, sitting on the bench near the fence. And behind it, his golden retriever going absolutely insane, barking at every ball that came near.

Something about that dog, just being completely unhinged while his owner tried to act all composed, made me start laughing. Like, actually laughing, in the middle of match point.

Tyler's dad yelled something from the sidelines. The referee looked confused. And that tiny moment of chaos, of breaking the perfect serious athlete vibe, snapped me out of zombie mode.

I hit the winner clean past Tyler's racket. Game, set, match.

Later, when I finally crawled home and collapsed on the couch with my dog (who was, as always, thrilled to see me but mostly just wanted me to stay still enough to use as a pillow), I realized something.

Those vitamin gummies didn't make me play better. Neither did pretending I wasn't tired. What got me through was embracing the chaos, the awkwardness, the fact that sometimes you're one more set away from becoming a literal zombie but you keep swinging anyway.

My dog sneezed in her sleep. I laughed again. And honestly? That felt like the real victory.