Page 1 of Love on the Sidelines

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AVA

Eight days.

Some people countdown to important things like weddings and having babies. Me? My countdown is to lacrosse season.

It’s not that I don’t want those things… eventually. Finding someone who’ll put up with and want to procreate with me is the challenge. Just ask my one and only ex-boyfriend. Actually, don’t bother.

Being an athlete and also a woman tends to give men an ego trip.

It's been a while since I was on a travel lacrosse team that wasn't connected to my college career, but I'm just as nervous as I would've been then, except I’m the coach this time. The only control I have is through shouting out advice instead of driving the ball to the net.

I'm hoping to give these girls the chance to play at a more competitive level than what they usually do here in northern Utah. But that means getting past all the good and bad from my own career.

Thinking of myself at the age of my players, thirteen and fourteen, it makes me realize how critical lacrosse was for building character when my life had been turned upside down in a few short months.

I’ve just visited my grandmother at the rehab center she’s at after breaking a hip two weeks ago. Then I head over to the pickleball court in our small town.

Why am I here when I know nothing about this sport? Because I can’t compete at a competitive level for lacrosse anymore, thanks to my bum knee. And I might’ve heard a girl on TikTok mention how she ditched dating apps (not that I’ve ever had those) and went to the pickleball court to find a date.

I mentioned I wanted to settle down and have kids one day, right? Well, sometimes it’s better to start the search early. Trial and error is the mantra of my life.

In a town as small as Oakhaven, the chance of finding a guy in my age bracket would be a miracle, let alone if he’s single and attractive.

How did I get here?

In college, I was confident that I would have a boyfriend and that we’d be able to go the distance. That turned out to be a joke. My ex-boyfriend ditched me for a women’s softball player and I left college single.

That wasn’t all bad.

I played at the University of Colorado and then played for a professional team for two summers before tearing my ACL for the last time. I probably could've pushed the doctors to let me play longer, but I knew it was time to be done.

I park next to the pickleball court and survey the landscape. It seems like this game is definitely a favorite among the older generations.

I pull out the paddle I bought when I drove to the next city over the weekend. Yesterday, I spent a couple of hours learning the rules and making sure I have a good grasp of the game. Thank you to the people who think, “I should make a video of that,” and then post it online. It’s super helpful to the prideful people of the world, like me, who struggle to ask for help.

For a small town, I’m still surprised that we have this many courts. Sure, they can double as tennis courts, but there are already several people passing what I originally thought was just a wiffle ball back and forth.

I scan the area, feeling ridiculous that I’m even trying to find a date. To be honest, I had planned to be at the wedding for one of my roommates tomorrow. Going to a wedding by myself isn’t the worst thing, but I’m kind of glad Brooke called it off. The guy she was dating didn’t fit her well.

She’s the gal who will find someone even better soon, so I might as well search for my plus one now.

Maybe it’s getting older that makes me feel the pressure to find a significant other, or just living in this town where most of the women my age are already married and have a kid or two. I’m only twenty-six, so fairly young by my own standards.

I stand on the sidelines of the court and wonder what to do. I didn’t come with a partner and it looks like everyone else is paired up. Do I just wait and hope one of them will let me play? This was definitely not addressed in the videos I watched.

It’s like every horror dream I’ve ever had, except for there’s no heckling here.

“Aren’t you Shirley’s granddaughter?” a woman asks, walking over to pick up a towel on a bench.

“Uh, yeah.” I’m trying to place the woman, but I can’t really figure out who she is. Of course, everyone knows my Gran, which makes for a lot of awkward conversations for me. “This is my first time trying pickleball.”

“I’m Betty Jean Carpenter. Your grandma was my preschool teacher all those years ago. She always knew how to cheer me up when I was having a hard time.”

My grandmother had been a preschool teacher for forty years before she retired ten years ago. Her health didn’t do well with all the little bugs and viruses the kids brought to class, and she sobbed the day her last classes graduated.

“Come play with us,” Betty Jean says. “Fran and I will teach you all the rules.”

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