From Rock Bottom to the Service Line:” Overcoming Parkinson’s” How Racquetball Saved My Life By Jk
My journey with racquetball began in Philadelphia, as a young boy following my father to the local courts. He taught me more than just a game; he taught me a language of movement and discipline. He used to say, "If you love what you do for work, it’s not work—it’s progress." It took me forty years and a harrowing journey through addiction and illness to truly understand what he meant. The Sanctuary in South Florida Years ago, I found myself in Delray Beach, Florida, living in a halfway house at Royal Recovery. I was clean, but I was fragile. Part of the program required me to be out of the house during the workday, but I wasn't yet permitted to hold a job. While many of my peers struggled with the void of empty time—and tragically, nearly two dozen lost their lives to relapses during that period—I found my sanctuary. I was living just a stone's throw from a racquetball court. While others scattered, I retreated to the glass walls. I became a student of the game all over again. In the quiet of those courts, I found the "good quiet." I practiced until my lungs burned and my mind cleared. One day, I noticed a man watching me from the cardio equipment. He was also in recovery, and I could see the spark of interest in his eyes. Eventually, he approached me and asked, "Do you have an extra racquet?" I did. Teaching him didn’t just help his game; it solidified my own recovery. I realized then that racquetball wasn't just a hobby—it was a lifeline. A New Challenge: The Parkinson’s Pivot Life eventually led me to Montreal, where I settled down with my wife’s family and worked as a property manager. But recently, life threw a new curveball: a diagnosis of Parkinson’s Disease. The stress of a 9-to-5 job made my tremors unbearable. In our high-speed world, I found I could barely type; my left hand would jump across the keyboard, a constant reminder of a body I could no longer fully control. I felt lost, until one afternoon when I happened to have my gear with me at work. During a particularly bad tremor episode, I picked up my racquet. The moment my hand closed around the grip, the shaking stopped. Whether it is the muscle memory, the focus, or a sign from a higher power, racquetball is the only place where the tremors subside. Even the act of squeezing the ball brings me a peace that medicine cannot replicate. It was a clear message: I was meant to be on the court.