Zombie Mode Padel

I'd been going full zombie mode all week—three hours of sleep, energy drinks for breakfast, and my brain functioning at maybe 20% capacity. Finals were absolutely frying me.

Friday afternoon, I'm sprawled on my bed doomscrolling through Instagram like a total spy, stalking Maya's stories because she'd been posting about this padel tournament all week. Padel was like tennis but cooler, or at least that's what everyone at school kept saying. The thing was, I'd never even picked up a racquet.

My dog Cooper—this chaotic golden retriever mix who thinks he's a puppy—burst into my room, tennis ball in his mouth, ready for action. We'd been playing baseball in the backyard since he was tiny, and he lived for those moments when I'd pitch and he'd sprint after the ball like his life depended on it.

"Not now, buddy," I groaned, but Cooper wasn't having it. He knocked my phone off the bed with his nose, and that's when I saw it—Maya had posted: "Anyone want to fill in for our fourth player tomorrow? Tournament at 2."

My thumb was hitting "I'm interested!" before my brain could process what I was signing up for.

The next day, I showed up at the courts with zero padel experience but full baseball energy. Maya introduced me to her friends, and I'm pretty sure they could tell I had no idea what I was doing. But then something clicked—my baseball instincts kicked in. The hand-eye coordination, the timing, the ability to read where the ball was going...

"Whoa, where'd you learn to hit like that?" Maya asked after I smashed this winner past their opponents.

"Baseball," I said, grinning like an idiot. "And apparently zombie mode makes me play better."

Cooper was waiting at home when I got back, and I realized something: sometimes you just gotta swing for the fences, even when you're exhausted and have no idea what you're doing. We won second place, Maya got my number, and I learned that being a total zombie doesn't mean you can't still show up and surprise yourself.