I’m on pickleball with the above time line. And if I remember to avoid running backwards, death will be stalled a few more years. My very first game was two days ago. Unfortunately, it was also one of my fart days when I pass a lot of gas; putt putt putt. Subtle but smelly. I have no idea why, it just happens. Often. Usually I avoid movement on these days to cut down on these stinky occurrences. Especially bending at the waist and having my rear end stick out. So I played pickleball in an upright military position. Not the desired form for hitting a wiffle ball.
My first real game was with my son, daughter-in-law and adult grandson and two of their friends.
Two of them very athletic and skilled, three of them very graceful and experienced. Up until now I’ve only had 3 lessons and you don’t get to hit the ball that often in lessons.
It turns out that I don’t get to hit the ball that often in a game either. But my air-swings are graceful, if not effective.
We warmed up and I was thrilled when I actually hit the ball over the net. And in the right place. But someone returned it and I missed.
I refused to move my feet. If the ball didn’t come right to me, I casually waited for my partner to hit it. My son, who was my partner because no one else would do it, got a little disgusted with this and glowered at me.
We rented the court for 1 hour and 15 minutes had passed already. Hooray, the end is in sight.
So I assumed the position; feet shoulder width apart, upright position, paddle in front or me, eye on the server. The ball came to me and I HIT IT BACK. Of course, I also farted – putt putt putt putttttt, but I didn’t care. I HIT THE BALL OVER THE NET.
The game continued and we lost 11 – 1. My backhands were not accurate and the forehand was directed straight to the opponents, easy to return. Anything below my waist was an air-swing. I hated to bend too much because of putt putt putt.
And I didn’t move my feet. If it wasn’t in reach, I let it go and farted.
Glancing at my watch, I saw that the hour was almost up. I ran to the side bench to gulp some water and pack up when one of the players said, “Oh, we can play longer, there’s nobody here.” They quickly formed up and I sat on the sideline. In fact, I sat on the sideline for the rest of the day. Nobody wanted me on the court. I was very lonely.
My son said to me, “Mom, your pickle ball days are behind you” which didn’t discourage me. Because I’m going to get there, one step at a time. First, hitting the ball. Then placing the hit. Then moving one step to either side. That should be most of it. And I’m going to look for another senior who doesn’t move his/her feet. We’ll be ideal partners.
The farts? I dunno know. That is something that needs addressed next week. But putt putt putt doesn’t add to my game.