Another half-decent pickleball session at the university on Monday morning. We’re back in our usual slot now that the exam season is over.
I do miss the SEXINESS of playing in the Sports Arena. It’s back to the bare bones of the sports hall where thirty three summers ago I used this exact same space to sit my exams, as well as getting sent off playing five-a-side football.
There wasn’t such controversy - or even intellectual requirement = for the pickleball session on Monday. Playing on my mind mainly was my on/off injury. I still feel that I’m only giving it 90%, afraid that if I push it too hard my calf will go PING once again.
I was only booked in and paid for the hour. Various numbers drifted in and out. This meant that my limited pickable skills were required for the full two-hour session. Pay to play, or rather not, as the case was.
It got really competitive for the final hour. I was playing alongside some experienced tennis players who had managed to convert their big boy tennis skills to the pickleball court. It’s surprising how much this raises your own game.
It was pissing it down when pickleball was finally complete. I had planned this in mind with the strategic decision to walk up there rather than get wet cycling.
I passed a very wet Captain Bermuda Shorts putting in his paces as he continues pounding the mean streets of C07. There was also the Wivenhoe Viking who gave me a friendly hello at the bus stop.
Funny old town.