PICKLEBALL, ANYONE?

When I was a young, I was passionate about tennis. I competed from the time I entered high school to the time I graduated from university.

Then, I became a lawyer, opened a practice and suspended my passion for tennis, thinking I would resume play a few years later.

But I allowed the practice to consume my time until I became middle aged.

Determined to play tennis then, I consulted my friends but they preferred golf, a sport I had never tried. I joined them on the golf course, and hoping to become proficient, played rounds, drove balls, took lessons and bought all the contraptions.

Although my progress was slow, I persisted, season after season, until one day I realized that my efforts were futile. I would never be able to catch up to them. Nevertheless, I golfed to be among friends and take walks in the fresh air.

In time, tennis became popular in my community and I started to play again.

But by then, I had become a senior citizen. Slower, older, I watched helplessly as too many balls whizzed past me. I spent my time fetching them after rallies, as if I were a ball boy, a lousy one considering the frequent pauses I had to take to catch my breath.

I became frustrated, nostalgic. Why had I dropped tennis for so long? O’ to be young, fast and fit again.

One day, a neighbour invited me to play pickleball. I hesitated. I was too old. The court was too small; the racket was too short; and the ball was too light.

But after many invitations, I relented. Imagine my relief when I stepped on the court and managed to return balls over the net with the tennis strokes I had learned in my youth. And although I became winded, I was able to recover between points.

Today, I’m retired. I love pickleball as much as I ever loved tennis and play every chance I get. When I look around me and see older players still playing pickleball, I dare hope that I’ll be able to follow their example for years to come.