It is Sunday morning, early.  I plan my routine that follows every week the same.  After I write in my journal, get my head cleared, my mind working on all cylinders, I rev my engines, and jump out of bed.  It's been a whole week almost that I've been able to play pickleball.  To remedy the situation, I can practice my regular 30 minutes at our Community Center on Sunday mornings.  No conflicts with any other group.  Everybody else (it feels like) is sitting in a church pew at one of the many churches located in town.

I'm satisfied with this "alone time" at the Community Center. I have my own key so that I can come and go at will.  Sometimes.  The Center is mainly a gym and, as a gym, has lots of activities going on during the week.  Many of those activities are different groups of pickleball players matched mostly with others of similar skill levels.  Not squeezed between those scheduled times but more likely right after them are activities involving school students playing, practicing, working on their own sports; that happens right after school lets out.  Other community functions are also reserved at certain seasons and times of the year.  We pickleballers then bow out and wait (impatiently much of the time) until the gym's schedule is clear again.

Today, my practice session begins with ball pop-ups.  Each time I miss the ball, I must go over to the flexibility ladder I lay on the floor when I first arrive.  Running through the ladder using some varying patterns allows me to be more flexible in feet movements as I play the game for real.

The upper walls of our gym are made of a fake brick. About 50 feet from the floor, a horizontal strip of wainscoting separates the brick from the smooth surface below which extends to the floor.  Using the wall for practice can be challenging.  The goal is to shoot for a target on the smooth part of the wall.  A target is taped 34" off the floor which is the height of the net at the center of the court; it's 36" at the edges near the posts.  The closer to the target one can shoot for, the more likely the ball will return without veering off the wainscoting or the brick wall above it.

This morning my balls are bouncing successfully at the target.  The crazy veering off the wall seems less than usual.  I feel light and playful; practice pays off.  This is where I like to be on a Sunday morning.  I muse that it is, in fact, my "church".  My Sunday morning pickleball practice is for me what many Sunday mornings must feel like for regular church go-ers.  

Many church go-ers are moved by what they may feel while sitting in church.  I too am moved; the practice of pickleball moves me.  I learn as I go when practicing; many church-goers also learn new concepts.  Understanding how my body can improve in making a shot helps me to build a better relationship from within.  Church go-ers too build relationships with themselves or with others who also attend.  And, best of all, my practice brings joy into my life.  Many church go-ers may make that claim as well.

Any Sunday morning in which others are showering and preparing to drive to church, I too am doing the same.  The only difference is that my "church" is on a gym floor, bouncing balls on the wall, into the air, or over a net line to make a perfect serve to the other side!