How to become a sportsperson
I was covered in sweat trying to remember to breathe, listen to the instructor and not run away from the ball all at the same time. I was hearing words like kitchen and underhand and volley and “don’t slice the ball.” It felt like it was raining word soup of the sporting kind.
Welcome to my first pickle ball lesson.
I don’t know what prompted me to learn a new sport, but I blame my friends. Lots of them have recently suggested we play. Clearly they mistake me for a coordinated person, or maybe they know that playing against me they are bound to win. Not only do I have zero competitive bones in my body but I have the coordination of a drunk person trying to fit a duvet cover while wearing boxing gloves.
But recently over a drink my friend made her winning pitch. I blame the fact that I had a drink in me and she was going out of town for work so the date we had planned for our first lesson was far enough in the future that I didn’t have to worry about it actually happening.
Unfortunately the time came and try as I might I could not think of a decent excuse (that she would accept) to cancel.
It was only on the court while trying to pretend I wasn’t intimidated by the ball, that it suddenly dawned on me that this was the first time I had ever tried to learn a sport. EVER. I got through my entire childhood without learning to play netball or tennis or rounders or baseball or anything. You could say my mother is allergic to sports and my father is allergic to people so joining a sports team wasn’t something that was promoted in our home. Same goes for supporting a sporting team. Just never happened. I got to be an adult with no sport skills or understanding.
My husband, on the other hand, plays sport, watches sport almost competitively and understands the rules of any game he stumbles upon. My husband has patiently tried to teach me the rules of so many different sports so many times, but to be honest, I have never really listened. My son inherited the sport thing from his dad and I’ve tried to tag along, hauling him to every type of sport available when he was growing up and pretending to be interested in the golf/rugby/basketball/other thing with a ball that seems to be on TV every waking moment.
It was quite a mind-fuck to realise this was my first time doing something quite so momentous while I was on the actual court with a ball careering towards my head. I wasn’t just there to try and make contact with the ball, but to learn how to play a game with actual techniques, rules, scoring and specific terminology . The five-year-old in me was delighted that I could hit the ball (sometimes) and the adult in me tried to listen to the instructor but failed.
I’m proud to say I play pickle ball like a five-year-old and I don’t think I’m ever likely to mature out of this phase. My body on the other hand, two days post pickle ball, feels 105 and I have coined the term ‘pickle hip’ for when people ask why I am walking funny.
All that said we booked another lesson for next week and a practice session in between. So basically I’m a sportsperson now.
Reading
Sometimes I come to write about a book and I think that everyone who reads my reviews is going to think that I just love every book I read. The truth is I don’t, but if I don’t like something I don’t tend to write about it *looks at last post where she complained about a variety of ridiculous things and scratches her head*. But seriously if there is a book I don’t love I don’t put it out there because I think it adds literally zero to anything.
No such problem when it comes to writing about We All Live Here by
but I do need you to know that when I rave about it it’s not just because I like reading, it’s because it is a touching, warm, true-to-life novel that had me invested from the very first page. It’s the kind of book I have been pressing into the hands of my friends because I know they will love it.Lila is a divorced mum living with her step-father and two daughters when her biological dad comes to stay - although this is a truly bad summation of the book its what lies at its bones. But it’s about much more than that. It is about how much of our lives we share, what makes a family, it’s about love and marriage and parenting and being parented. It’s about middle aged women and teenage girls and everything in between. It’s domestic and warm and relatable and a beautiful read that will reward you on every page.
Eating
Last weekend I made this thing, which according to the recipe is called Sex In A Pan. It’s basically layers of dessert one on top of another. Very delicious. Very easy. Not even pretending be bit one bit healthy.
I booked a table for four of us to eat at Radio Island and was very excited about tasting their huge menu. The only problem was that I booked for the wrong day so we couldn’t get a table when we got there and had to eat outside from the bar menu which was delicious. Would go back to try their much larger offering if someone else makes the booking.
Thanks for reading to the end.
See you next week
Lana