Go back with me, if you will, to the first time you were invited to play pickleball. Probably a decade ago. Do you remember how you felt? What you were expecting?
I do. I was at a social event and in a jovial mood. I accepted the invitation to play, expecting a low-stakes game with long pauses to allow for invigorating conversation and sips of beverages from decorative glasses with petite straws. An outdoor activity akin to croquet or bocci ball. At the most intense end of things, maybe four square or tether ball.
When someone handed me a racket — or was it a paddle? — I was confused. When they showed me a cement court, I panicked. I spent the next 20 minutes running back and forth on my side of the net, swinging a paddle/racket at balls that had long since flown by, trying to hold back tears as the Andre Agassi and Serena Williams of pickleball crushed me and my teammate, another unsuspecting party attendee.
The origins of the game’s title are murky — some say the inventor of the game, Joel Pritchard, named it after his beloved family dog, Pickles. Others say Pritchard’s wife, Joan, named it pickleball because the mishmash nature of the sport reminded her of the pickle boats in crew. So I don’t know who to blame. Mr. or Mrs. Pritchard. Probably both.
I’ve played pickleball once since that fateful night at the party and things got pretty tense between my teammate, my dad, who has athletic talent, and me, his daughter with weak ankles and no hand-eye coordination. We came perilously close to never speaking again.
It’s been a tough few years for me as pickleball has grown in popularity across the nation, and in Utah. As recently as last week, Apple’s Heart and Movement study findings showed Utah the top state for pickleball.
I can’t escape it. Around every corner is a well-intentioned acquaintance with an invitation to play. And every time I have to explain the lack of hand-eye coordination and weak ankles. I’m not being dramatic here. I mean I am, but I’m also being truthful. One of the most validating moments in my life was when I got my 23 and Me results and in the health and wellness section, under muscle composition, it read, “Your genetic muscle composition is uncommon in elite power athletes.”
In other words, I am genetically, profoundly, not athletic.
“But haven’t you written 2,000 columns on running?” you may be ready to type in the comments (which you should know I stopped reading about a year and a half ago because I’m too fragile). Yes, I run, because it’s the one form of exercise that doesn’t require any sort of throwing or hitting or swinging. But running in a straight line is a real feat for me (no kind of pun intended). Sometimes random strangers stop me and ask, “Are you OK? You look injured.”
The worst part of the dating years for me was not deciphering potential partner compatibility or going through breakups; it was the ubiquity of athletic activities. Every other date was Frisbee golf or volleyball, and many of my most embarrassing moments were on those dates. One night I returned home with my backside completely covered in mud after tripping while trying to catch a Frisbee.
So the rise of pickleball has been stressful for me, but at least I know what it is and how to avoid it. I worry for the other, unsuspecting, unathletic citizens among us. If there is anyone left who hasn’t had a painful initiation into the world of pickleball, the least we can do is give the sport — yes, SPORT — a more accurate name.
A name that doesn’t evoke images of lying around in a salty brine. What does a pickle do? It chills. So why does the least-chill activity have pickle in its name?
To protect the easily humiliated, we should give the activity a more accurate title. “Intense Cardio Ball.” “Basically Tennis.” Or maybe “Duck!”