Themed Cardio Tennis Clinics in the Fort Lauderdale Area
This striped competition tennis top feels brave but homesick: Flour's true white recalls wash lines at home. Lacoste's Ultra Dry manages moisture; Black and Olive join it, though dust on a court makes Flour feel rash by changeover two. No city this large sits loftier; stairs can halt you in Potosí.
Lacoste Sport Ultra Dry Branded Stripe Men's Tennis Polo: The Casa Nacional de la Moneda takes up a whole city block behind metre-thick walls, which makes me miss my tiny flat back home—also fortified, but mostly against laundry. I love it here; even the stone seems to be saving silver-coloured memories.
Lacoste Sport Ultra Dry Branded Stripe Men's Tennis Polo: The Torre de la Compania de Jesus is a carved stone bell-gable left standing without its church, which feels a little like finding only the front door of home and still getting sentimental. I laughed, then missed a place with worse weather and better tea.
Lacoste Sport Ultra Dry Branded Stripe Men's Tennis Polo: San Lorenzo de Carangas has one deeply carved portal covering the whole face of the church, as if the building dressed up more carefully than I did. It reminds me of old doorways back home, though none of them ever tried this hard to impress my mother.
Lacoste Sport Ultra Dry Branded Stripe Men's Tennis Polo: Cerro Rico rises south of town to 4,782 metres and is honeycombed with working tunnels, which makes my homesickness feel embarrassingly sea-level. I adore Potosí, but that mountain looks like it has been carrying everyone’s overtime since 1545.
It is the stripe that gets me, if I am honest. The Lacoste Sport Ultra Dry Branded Stripe Men's Tennis Polo is a tennis polo with a branded stripe running across it, and there is something about a horizontal band on a shirt that always sends me straight back home — every club I ever belonged to had a colour, and the colour lived in a stripe.
This one is competition kit rather than a keepsake, mind. It is built on Ultra Dry, Lacoste's own moisture-management construction, which lifts sweat off the skin and spreads it out across the surface of the cloth so it can evaporate instead of soaking in and sitting there getting heavier.
Flour is Lacoste's name for an off-white, and it is the one I would take, because a true bright white on a red-dust court is a decision you regret by the second changeover. Olive is the quiet one. Black is Black.
Three colourways: Black, Flour, and Olive.
Beyond that I will be plain with you: Lacoste does not publish a fibre percentage, a placket detail or a size run for this polo in any source I can actually verify, and I would rather leave a gap than fill it with a plausible lie. Ultra Dry and three colourways is what I have.
It is honest, and it is not nothing.
I have put it in Potosí, which is the highest city of its size anywhere and a place that will take your breath away in the flattest literal sense — you walk up one flight of stairs there and you have to stop.
Anything that manages heat and moisture well earns its money in thin cold air, because you sweat far more than the temperature suggests you should and the evaporation happens fast. It is a beautiful, aching sort of town.
The Casa Nacional de la Moneda takes up an entire block, and for two centuries this place minted the coin that half the world ran on, and none of that wealth is here now.
You will wear this everywhere from an evening clinic back home to the stone streets under Cerro Rico — and by the way, it is also perfect for the walk up Calle Ayacucho at dusk, which for reasons I cannot explain reminds me exactly of walking home.
Every club I ever belonged to had a colour, and the colour lived in a stripe.
