Several years ago, a guy I worked with started playing racquetball and thought it would be a great idea if I started playing, too. Though I had never played before, something deep-down inside told me that being a proficient racquetballer was not in my DNA.
 
About once or twice a week, this guy asked me to play, and each time, I found a way to get out of it. Unfortunately, he was the persistent type—something he would later regret.