Patrice Waverly-Fontaine
Palm Beach, FL · Sep 8
Love-Love? Darling, There Is Nothing Love-Love About My Week On The Courts
Well, where do I even begin. It has been an absolutely *whirlwind* of a week, and I barely had time to breathe between matches, let alone touch up my Sisley lip gloss. Monday started with Bunny arriving at Phipps Ocean Park a full twelve minutes late because, and I am quoting her directly here, her golf cart got stuck behind a delivery lorry on South County Road. A lorry. In Palm Beach. During season. I told her she really must start leaving the house earlier and she gave me that look she always gives me, the one that says she completely agrees but will absolutely do the same thing next Thursday.
Carlos had us doing lateral agility drills before we even picked up a paddle, which, I will say, I resented deeply at 8 in the morning with a sky threatening rain. But then we got into our rhythm and honestly, Bunny and I were *locked in*. There is something about playing at Phipps with the ocean air cutting through the heat that makes everything feel slightly cinematic. Geoffrey wandered over from his morning walk, stood at the fence for approximately four minutes, nodded approvingly, and then continued on to pick up his newspapers. That man. Thirty-three years and he still watches me play as though he is approving a board presentation.
Nicolette Hargrove
Naples, FL · Sep 7
Dinks, Dinners, and Derek's Dramatic Backhand: A Naples Girl's Week on the Courts
Honestly, there are weeks that just wrap around you like the warmest Gulf breeze, and this was absolutely one of them. I cannot think of a better way to have spent five days than sweating through my serves at Pelican Bay, laughing until my mascara ran with Camille, and ending every single evening with something delicious in my hand. Rosie greeted me at the door each night like I had been gone for a year, tail going absolutely berserk, and I just think that dog knows when her mama has had a good week. She always knows.
Monday started with an early session with Thomas at Naples Grande, and I cannot overstate how much this man has transformed my third shot drop. He has this way of explaining the mechanics that makes everything click, and I was out there feeling genuinely dangerous by eight in the morning. I wore my Coastal Serve Tank from Pickleball Florida USA paired with my Alo Airlift leggings in that dusty sage color, and honestly the combination was both functional and adorable enough that two women on the adjacent court asked me where I got the tank. I told them immediately because that is just who I am as a person. The tank breathes beautifully in the Florida humidity and I refuse to wear anything else for morning sessions now.
Vivian Kowalski-Reed
The Villages, FL · Sep 6
Kenny Called A Kitchen Fault On Me And I Almost Left Him There In The Florida Heat
Honey, let me tell you about the week I had because if I do not write it down I am going to explode right here in my golf cart and Frank will have to hose me off the driveway.
Monday started fine. Frank was out the door at 6:47 heading to Knudson because the man cannot be late for his 7am game even if the house is on fire. I followed about an hour later with my Coastal Court Tote from Pickleball Florida USA slung over my shoulder, which by the way fits everything including my extra grip tape, my reading glasses, a granola bar, and what I call my emotional support towel. Dottie pulled up in her golf cart right as I was walking in and she had that look on her face that means someone is about to get destroyed on the court and it was not going to be her.
Stella Marchetti
Sarasota, FL · Sep 5
Sweat, Smash, Repeat: A Week on the Courts That Almost Broke Me (Almost)
I am not going to lie, Tuesday at Pompano Park nearly humbled me in front of nine people I have to face every single week for the rest of my life. We had a full crew out there, the usual suspects, and I walked in feeling myself a little too much after a solid weekend session at Urfer. That energy lasted approximately four minutes before Linda drilled a third-shot drop past me like I was a decorative cone she was practicing around. The Florida heat was doing its thing, the kind of thick, soupy air that makes you question every life decision that led you to leave Brooklyn, and I was out there chasing balls like a labrador who never quite learned the lesson.
Here is the thing about Gabi, my neighbor who got me into this beautiful chaos six years ago: she showed up Tuesday in the most aggressively cheerful mood, cracking jokes in that way she does where half the punchline is in Portuguese and you are laughing anyway because her energy is completely contagious. She played flawlessly, obviously, which is annoying, and then immediately suggested we all get breakfast at Kekes Breakfast Cafe after, which is how you know she had a good morning. I ordered the French toast. I earned the French toast.
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