Seven Reasons Why I Love Pickleball

As I’m sure each and every one of you know, today is National Pickleball Day! 😉🙃 While I still firmly and firstly define myself as a runner—on a recent morning, I opted to run five miles instead of heading to the courts as originally planned—I do find profound joy hitting a yellow plastic ball with a short paddle around a small court with three other players. 

To help you understand why this rapidly growing sport delights me—and maybe spur you to try it for yourself—here are seven reasons why I love pickleball. 

It has a steep learning curve. I went from rank beginner to playing a game in an hour (for realz, 60 short minutes) when introduced to the sport at Rancho La Puerta. Sure, I had the benefit of playing tennis in my youth, but it’s by no means a necessity: Anyone can gain a lot of skills and tactics in a short amount of time. Pickleball has just a few rules. The scoring might take you a bit to catch on to, but a patient partner (or opponent!) is almost always happy to help.  

My family members probably think I’ve become a pickleball monster…

It allows conversation—and laughter—during games. I play at a lot of different courts in and around Portland, and there’s a common mantra among most players: “I take the game seriously, but mainly I’m here to have fun!” I haven’t laughed so often or so hard with a bunch of random people since my freshman year of college—or maybe forever. I especially like that a lot of the crack-ups are from folks poking fun at themselves.

We’re all smiles after a doubles tournament: From l-to-r: my tourney playing partner, Lizzie; me; our gold-medal-winning opponents, Becky and Cindie.

It’s a melding of all sorts of folks. Pickleball is an all-comers sport: At public courts, anyone can show up and play—there’s no screening process or fee involved. Then, unless you have a specific doubles partner, you get randomly paired with a playing partner. (The majority of pickleball games are played by four people, two on each side of the net, despite the entire court being less than half the size of a tennis court.) I play with school bus drivers, pharmacists, real estate agents, stay-at-home parents, software engineers, and more of many races and from across the political spectrum. I didn’t realize how unique this human amalgamation was until my former BRF, Molly, met me at the courts one day, and commented how cool it is that I hang out with people from all walks of life. 

It’s a great way to make new friends. As runners, we know conversation flows more freely when we’re in motion and have a common reason for convening. Yet unlike running, pickleball can’t be done solo so games “force” you to interact. Frequenting the same courts regularly means you play repeatedly with the same people. For the longest time, I thought of these folks—Jennifer, Wally, Teresa, Lizzie, Cooper, Gena, and more—as simply my “pickleball pals.” It took Teresa suggesting a weekend getaway to her brother’s cabin at a Central Oregon resort with swanky pickleball courts for me to realize these people are truly friends—they are often the only non-family members I socialize with (usually for hours at a time!). 

I appreciate that pickleball affords me male friends, including Wally (on my right, in blue l/s top)

It makes me feel athletic—and scrappy. In pickleball, opponents often try to win a point by hitting a “drop” shot, one that just barely makes it over the net. Some players at the baseline just watch in consternation as they lose the point. Not me: I’ve come to realize I adore, absolutely adore dashing toward the net and lunging to return the shot. (If I’m not already up at the net, ready to volley.) That short burst of speed culminating in finesse makes me feel so dang scrappy. Somehow points that play out like this quell my deep-seated qualms of being an athletic poser, more than running a race ever did. 

It feeds my competitive fire. I completely own that I’m a competitive person, and I make no apologies for it. Yet on the pickleball court, I honestly don’t keep track of winning and losing games. The thing I do love is winning a hard-fought point, a rally with each player striving their hardest to keep the ball in—and maybe to hit the winning shot. Not to get all woo-woo, but it creates a shared kinetic energy that multiplies with each successful whack of the ball. Last Saturday, playing a game with three skillful men, I hit a winning shot down the forehand line. My partner Dustin, a young, pony-tailed guy, said, “I could feel your intensity as you rushed forward for that shot.” That’s what I’m talking about!

Each point is different: about to hit a drop shot, then rush the net

It’s never the same game twice. Almost every sport I’ve ever done—running, swimming, rowing, cycling—involves repetitive motion. I’d convinced myself that was what I was good at, that I didn’t have the creativity, skill, or mental acuity to play a more ad-lib sport. Pickleball has proven me wrong—and showed me how much I love the improvisational nature of each point. Somewhere in my brain, I’m making split-second calculations about whether to drive the ball down the middle or tap it cross-court. Hitting a great shot makes me feel positively giddy. It’s what keeps me coming back to the courts day after day (I now play four to six times per week!) because no two games or points ever play out the same. 

How about you: Have you given pickleball a shot?
If so, what do you love about the sport?