Pickleball. Pickle. Ball. Whatever the correct spelling or punctuation, I tried playing. As most regular readers know, I am not athletic. Walking without tripping is considered a success to me. So, why did I think learning a new sport at 65 was a good idea? False advertising. I thought it was like playing ping pong only with larger paddles and balls. I pictured it on the huge chess board you see at some of the fancier resorts. How could I have been so wrong?
I am in the Florida Keys where this sport has taken over! A dog park was recently turned into pickleball courts. A very generous family donated money for the city to build public pickleball courts with an outside pavilion to boot. We can play pretty much wherever and whenever we want, but Carey is going to need another partner. I simply cannot master the game.
I suggested we hop on this craze. Normally, Carey and I do not play sports together. This has worked well for some 40 odd years. There was no yelling on Carey’s part, just me muttering a litany of curse words as he tried to teach me. First, you cannot just stand in one place. You have to Run, and this causes me to Sweat. The fact that I capitalized those words should give you an idea of how the rest of the match went! Carey hit the ball. I was getting ready to return the serve when I realized the ball does not bounce. This is not tennis for old people. I tried again and served the ball. Carey gracefully returned it to me, but I was too slow to get it before it dropped dead on the court. We tried again. Same result—more muttering from me. Finally, I had to give up. I wasn’t going to become athletic overnight or even over a very long weekend. Pickleball, like so many sports, got the best of me. Carey stayed upbeat and pretended that over time I would get the hang of it. Ha!
I needed to do something to make me feel better. I texted a friend who had taken up the sport over a year ago, and she replied that it could be “challenging.” Hmm. I usually like things that challenge me but then I remembered my aversion to running and sweating. I needed a real reason for why I had failed. My lack of athleticism was not enough so I decided I would turn to my friend Mr. Google. Did you know 90% of pickleball injuries happen to people over age 50? Most are just sprains and strains, but some people develop pickleball elbow! Yes, I needed to stay off the court to protect myself. Carey will probably find another partner in this pickleball crazy community.
I decided I would ride my bike to a local boutique—you know, to give myself a reward after the disaster. But, well, I crashed. Thankfully a nice man who could not be a day younger than 85 witnessed the crash and came over to help me up. I bet he is good at pickleball, too. Peace my Peeps.
