November was a blur. We managed to escape to sunny Mexico (spoiler alert: it was not overly sunny; apparently, the sun also needs a vacation). Being a creature of habit, we usually default to one of our regular haunts: the all-inclusive resort. For the last few years, the Riu Hotels have been our jam, with their winning formula of "all the food you can eat and all the questionable drinks you can handle." A true test of one's gastrointestinal fortitude. This time was decided to change it up. Iberostar here we come!

The real boss in the family (clearly not me, I'm just the luggage mule) believes the purpose of a vacation is to evolve into a human lizard, soaking up the sun for hours on end. Meanwhile, my attention span for sunbathing maxes out after about an hour or two. At that point, I usually have to seek out a quiet, dark sanctuary to recover from the sheer chaos—and possible splash damage—of the pool area.

So, for the next holiday, we decided to break the cycle. I tentatively asked, "What about a pickleball camp?" Because nothing screams "relaxation" like mandatory daily athletic instruction. With the sport’s meteoric rise, pickleball holidays are popping up everywhere, though most seem to be run by American organizations (they do love a good organized activity). One that kept haunting my social media feed—like a dink shot I couldn't return—was Taylored Pickleball Camps (TPA Vacations). After a little due diligence and some Oscar-worthy convincing, we decided to take the plunge. That was six months ago. Fast forward, and we found ourselves blearily taking an Uber at 3 a.m. to the airport for the four-plus-hour flight to Cancun. We looked like two people who had clearly misunderstood the concept of "vacation."

What had we done? We genuinely had no idea what we'd signed up for. Okay, we knew there would be daily instruction in the morning with optional play in the afternoon, but still. In the airport lounge, groups of people were congregating, all clutching those miniature pickleball bags (the official pickleball uniform, apparently), and many seemed to know each other. It felt like we were the only two who hadn't been to Pickleball Summer Camp since 1998, probably sporting an outdated paddle and a look of mild panic. Okay…no panic and of course not an outdated paddle.

After an uneventful flight, we boarded a bus destined for Iberostar Joia in the Riviera Maya. This place is huge—a sprawling complex with five different hotels. The camp gave us a choice between Maya and Joia. Joia is adults-only and their swankiest, most expensive property. Stay there, and you get access to all the resorts; stay at Maya, and you're locked out of the Joia good life. Naturally, we chose Joia, because if we're going to suffer through sports camp, we're going to do it in style. After checking in, we immediately began our essential "reconnaissance" mission to figure out where the free food and the pool is located. The first evening featured a welcome dinner, so we headed to Maya at 6 p.m. to meet our fellow "campers."

At check-in, we got the lowdown on the camp and our assigned groups. With over 70 participants, this was going to be a frenzy of activity—basically a pickleball stampede. The first session kicked off at 8 a.m. the next morning. The coaching crew was incredibly welcoming, giving us the instructions and moving people around as needed. There are eight courts in one spot and another four about five minutes away (perfect for a pre-drills warm-up walk). The first session was pretty foundational, focusing on common skills. We paired up and played with the same person for 15 minutes before rotating. After two and a half hours, we were officially done and stampeded off to breakfast, fueled by the sheer urgency of needing caffeine and carbohydrates.

During that first session, I looked around and thought, "Am I in the right class? Did they mistake my advanced sarcasm for a beginner's drive?" It was a big group, and the skill levels were... broad. It seemed like I was the unwitting possible higher-level student of this particular group, which is a bit like being the smartest person in a room full of roombas. I reached out to the Head Coach later that evening, but the verdict was in: I was staying put. The next day, things got a little awkward, and I really started questioning my life choices. There was a "better" group—a pickleball Shangri-La—but for some reason, I wasn't making the transfer. I even looked up the DUPR ratings for the other group and realized I was smack in the middle. By the third day, the coaches mercifully sorted out the groups and shifted a few people around. This helped. Knowing there was nothing I could do—short of staging a dramatic, paddle-smashing exit—I figured it was best to stop whining and enjoy the ride. The afternoon sessions were less competitive and more about fun games everyone could play. At one point, a few kind souls invited me to join the advanced group, and we went to the other courts for some proper games. The final day was a tournament, and they did a fantastic job organizing and running it. The instruction quality from the Taylor Academy staff was truly excellent—top-notch across the board. Many of the participants were repeat offenders for this type of holiday, as they all seemed to be old pals, which only reinforced the feeling of being the new kid in the cafeteria.

The hotel was a true 5-star experience, and frankly, far more luxurious than our usual "all-inclusive" digs—especially considering the price tag. Typically, at an all-inclusive, you have one main buffet and four to five theme restaurants where reservations aren't necessary. This mostly worked out, but the wait times at the theme restaurants were often a little long. I’m still not sure why, as there were always empty tables. Maybe they just didn't want to overwhelm the staff—or maybe they just liked watching us wait, slowly starving the pickleball right out of us.

Rather than go to the buffet, we attempted to try out Venecia (Italian) but of course, there would be a wait, so we wandered down to the beach and had dinner at Ember (steak house). Sometimes it can be challenging getting a good steak at a resort, but suffice to say this was pretty good. And of course, we were able to get it without a wait, which felt like a win as significant as a third-shot drop.

We did end up going to Venecia on one of the nights, and it was very nice with good service and good food. The highlight was the tableside tiramisu, which almost made me forget my group placement woes.

The best meal we had was at L’Ateiler (French). Of course, there was a wait (the price of excellence), but once we got in, it was worth it. Again, very good service and excellent food.

On our final night, we went back to the buffet for what they call “gala” night. Ideally, you were supposed to dress up a bit, and the food selection was broader—think lobster, etc. Excellent choice for our last night, a culinary trophy for surviving a week of structured activity.

The week went quite quickly, and before we knew it, we were back on a plane and heading home to the snow. So, was it worth it? The hotel was superb, the food was very, very good—however, this all comes with a price tag that required several months of therapy just to look at. The pickleball was good, the people were very nice, and the instruction was excellent. Would I have been happier in a better group? Yeah, but that’s water under the bridge (or, more accurately, a missed dink shot). So goodbye from Mexico, and till the next time, may your backhand cross-court dinks land inside the kitchen.