Continuing on my path of being perpetually “late” to trends, I participated in my first pickleball game in June 2024.

Summers growing up were idyllic. My Mom was a teacher who had Summer off, so she would escort my sister Courtney and I to swimming lessons and the pool, day after day. In the evenings, Cort and I would retire to the front yard where we would assume our positions — each on one side of the street — and play a nondescript paddle-board game. The “game” looked something like this, circa the 90’s — think blonde wood and yellow tones. Undoubtably we knew zero rules and merely hit the ball back and forth (often running after it down the street), exhausting the remnants of our energy before heading to bed. I was brought back to this memory as I stood in athletic stance on the pickelball court, sweating from the sweltry evening sun, timidly awaiting a serve.

Midweek I sat on my back patio (awkwardly positioned in my round rocking chair to avoid the glaring sun) reading the local newspaper, and came across and ad for a free adult pickleball social the next day. On a mission to make the most of my summer — and to prioritize fitness, I texted one of my friends to see if she’d be interested in attending with me. She said yes, and I registered. The day of the event, my friend called to share that she wouldn’t be able to make it as she was following a trail of crickets in her house to locate her missing pet gecko (yep, that really happened). Lindsay of the past would have used that as an excuse to stay inside and revel in her hermit ways. But — I surprised myself by forcing my butt out the door to check out the event solo.

I pulled up to the park and saw quite a few people, paddles in hand, hats on head, ready to play. I, however, did not have a paddle given I had never played the game, and presumed the event coordinators would have extra equipment — they did not. I reluctantly walked to the courts and was placed with a group that clearly had some experience. A few kind souls let me borrow their paddle when they weren’t playing as the event was drill and rotation-based. A short while later, a girl arrived and happened to have a second paddle that she let me borrow. I was so grateful, and relieved to be officially part of “the club”.

After a few rounds of watching others navigate the court, I determined the general rules of the game. Yet, I was abysmal when it was my turn to jump in. Having played softball as a youth and tennis as a young adult, I was thrown off by the size of the paddle and continued my improper racquet swinging tendencies. When the rotating drills ended, a few of us wandered to an open court and started playing a real game.

At this point I was able to return the ball and participate as a useful member of a two-person team. I nailed all of my serves and likely provided as much benefit as burden throughout the game — not bad for day one. Overall I found pickelball easier than tennis (less space to cover), and enjoyed the social and fitness advantages. I ever so slightly tweaked my knee, despite wearing my actual tennis shoes, but chock that up to employing movement I haven’t tapped into recently.

I exchanged numbers with a few folks I met at the social in hopes of coordinating pick-up games in the future. When I got home, I immediately went to Amazon to search for my own paddle as to be prepared before the next opportunity. This is the set I bought — not my top choice, but a reasonable option not knowing how consumed I’d become with this sport. I was eyeing this sweet, feminine, southern-style set — but perhaps an upgrade for another time.

So there you have it. Four years late to a global phenomenon, and proud of my extroverted effort, I discovered a potential new hobby and social activity. Here’s to pickleballing!