Chapter Three #2
“Who’s here for pickleball?!” one of the Jankowski moms cheered. In greeting, the techie triplets offered her enthusiastic paddle taps.
Just then, a smartly dressed young woman in a peach blouse and pencil skirt click-clacked onto the courts and strode toward the net.
Raven haired and sharp featured, her natural smile put Lulu at ease.
In fact, her striking appearance captivated many in the audience, and downright hypnotized one of the teenagers.
“Welcome, everybody. Please,” she gestured for the players to gather closer. “I’m Carmen Echandi, the program director for Blue Seas Resort.”
On the far court, Gwendy remained planted. “What the hell? We’re in the middle of a game.”
Carmen spared a glance at the standoff happening on court one and continued, louder this time.
“We are thrilled you are joining us for our first inclusive”—she paused with great portent—“exclusive Picklecation Retreat. We have two groups at the resort this week. Most of you are participating in our all-inclusive Picklecation. Each day, players will meet here on the courts at designated times for round-robin play, and a pickleball coach will be on hand to offer guidance and support.” A cheer went up across the courts, and Rooster turned his head to wink at Lulu.
“The second group,” Carmen continued, “a small contingent, will be venturing out to courts around the country, trying out our first-ever pickleball adventure tour.”
At this, Gwendy gave a hoot. “That’s me, bitches. I’m the small contingent.”
Her comment garnered a cautioning glance from Ms. Echandi.
Hurrying to join the meeting, a pair of women wearing matching, sporty court skirts slipped onto the courts with the sort of casual air meant to look inconspicuous. “Sorry we’re late,” one of them mouthed.
“No sorrys in pickleball!” Gwendy shouted like it was an order.
“Please. Join us.” Ms. Echandi smiled. “We’re all here to have fun.
We Costa Ricans, Ticos for short, have a saying.
Pura vida. Directly translated, it means pure life, but we use it for a lot of things: Hello.
I’m doing great. Nice to see you. I like your haircut…
” she said, garnering a few supportive chuckles.
“But mostly it expresses positivity. Relax. Enjoy. Tranquilo. Everything will work itself out. You are on vacation!”
Pura vida. Lulu made a mental note to try out the phrase, but more so, to embrace the attitude.
She was, after all, in Costa Rica. Nothing to do but let the program director do the programming.
Nothing to plan except a stroll on the beach with her daughter or playtime on the courts with her uncle.
And then, chill time. A whole new Lu. Like the other Lu, but more laid back. More pura vida.
Carmen continued, “Now, who here would like to get pickling?”
An approving cheer broke out among the crowd, including Bill, who clapped with gusto until a stony look from Gwendy put the kibosh on his enthusiasm. Poor Invisi-Bill. Lulu gave him six months until he succumbed, but to which of his two fates she could not say.
For the next hour, Rooster coached Lulu as they played what Rooster deemed “friendly” games against Gwendy and Bill, although Lulu found that adjective lacking in veracity.
And even though the scoring was like solving an ever-shifting, complicated math problem, she was starting to get the hang of calling out the score before she served.
They played and lost. Played and lost again.
Before the next game, Rooster called Lulu to the kitchen line. “You’re waiting for the ball in the same position that you hit the last one.”
“I know.” That way, she would be ready for the next hit.
Gesturing for her to mimic his posture, he squatted, held his paddle in front of his chest, and tilted it to eleven o’clock. “Do this,” Rooster said. “Reset. In between each hit. Every time.”
Skeptical, Lulu’s brows dipped. “That seems like I’d be leaving myself vulnerable to a passing shot.”
“Just the opposite. Readjust your stance. Active neutral, that’s where you wanna be.
In position to block, swing, punch, crack.
No matter how good your last hit was, you have to believe that the ball is going to come back to you.
Because it is going to come back. And you have to get rid of all the thoughts about your last hit, good or bad, and be ready and waiting for whatever comes next. ”
A reset, huh?
So when Rooster’s next hit came to her backhand, she reset to center.
And again on the next return. And again.
Hit after hit, there was that rising sensation.
She could feel the change in her shot quality as her body altered her swing.
Lulu’s reactions became faster. Her brain took advantage of the respite to arrange the next stroke.
She could get the hang of this. Building finesse.
Adjusting her timing. Little by little, Lulu let her body and animal brain take the reins from her overthinking mind.
Absorbed in the good energy of play, Lulu forgot about the phone call from her disappointed principal, brushed away her money worries, and overruled the part of her brain that told her, in those rare sleepless moments when she let the thought in, that her athletic days were over.
And for a blessed sixty minutes, she knew she could make gains if she simply put her mind into the practice.
She shifted her stance and her paddle for a power stroke, and as the ball skidded past Bill, Lulu daydreamed of a day when her daughter would watch her play, would understand that her mom had skills in her pocket and on the court, and that playing made her feel powerful.
At the end of the game, Lulu jogged to the sidelines, panting.
“What did ya think?” Rooster asked.
Brimming with adrenaline and the buzz of success, Lulu’s smile erupted. Now. Now was the time for a pura vida. She opened her mouth but hesitated, not bold enough. Instead, she admitted, “You know what? Pickleball is really fun.”
“That’s the spirit. You’re gonna love it.” Rooster chuckled.
Sweaty, flushed, and overheated, she nodded, and a fresh wave of energy rippled through her. She had tried something outside of her comfort zone and she had not imploded. And for the first time in a long time, Lulu Gardner felt buoyed by hope.