Pickleball with Strangers

I got talked into pickleball by a coworker in March. I'm forty-four and had never played a racket sport in my life. Now I'm at the park courts four mornings a week at seven a.m.

The courts run on a paddle-in-the-fence system: you hang your paddle up and whoever's next rotates in. That means you play with everyone. A seventy-nine-year-old retired dentist with a wicked serve. Two sisters from Korea who communicate entirely through eyebrow movements. A high school kid who apologizes every time he wins a point.

Nobody cares that I'm bad. They yell "Nice try!" when I whiff and celebrate wildly when I don't. After games, someone always brings donuts, and we stand around the fence talking about everything except pickleball.

My knees hurt. I've never had more fun getting up early.