WIMBLEDON WELLNESS
One more game, folks! It’s a small victory for exercise when nobody wants to stop.
On a pickleball court, exertion has something to occupy it: a ball to reach, a partner to rescue, the chance to recover a point surrendered rather foolishly. Nobody needs to announce that this is good for one. There is a score to settle.
Imagine the court at the edge of a garden, a little below a broad, shaded terrace. From a bench beneath the canopy, the whole game is visible. A paddle lies beside a glass of water. Its owner came to watch, although the shoes suggest otherwise.
Behind the terrace, the exercise room opens to the air. A sheltered platform holds yoga mats, spaced for stretching without disturbing a neighbor. A path turns through planting toward the sauna and steam room, past a shower and a hook for a towel.
A rally ends in laughter. From the bench comes advice of doubtful value. The next pair rises, and the departing players climb the few steps to the terrace, still reconstructing the point. In the shade, water tastes particularly good.
The invitation might have been to play pickleball, try a game of padel, or join friends for a run. Perhaps someone bought the outfit before discovering whether they liked the activity. Fashion has its uses. By now, the shoes are beneath the bench, and a rematch is under discussion.
Beyond the planting, the court sounds grow fainter. The sauna door closes on a smaller world of timber and heat. Next door, steam softens the edges of the room. Conversation dwindles. Outside again, the air feels cool against warm skin, and the garden has more scent than it seemed to have an hour before.
Seen through the leaves, the terrace has grown quieter. Someone is reading where the yoga mats were. The canopy’s shadow has lengthened across the paving, bringing another seat into the shade.
By now, another game is underway. The paddle beside the water glass has gone. Its owner, apparently, had been persuaded to join in.
Someone asks about next Saturday.
—Micah Heimlich
