Welcome to my journey through sports.
Growing up, sports were never just activities for me — they were milestones, teachers, and sometimes even escape routes. Each sport I tried caught me in a different way: some with their speed, some with their precision, and others simply with the joy they brought me. In this blog series, I’ll share how I discovered each sport, the way it shaped me, and what I’ve learned about the games themselves through firsthand experience. Whether you’re new to these sports or simply curious, I hope my stories will give you a window into how to get started, what makes each game special, and how to enjoy them at any stage of life.
Blog 1: Badminton – A Journey from Joy to Growth
Where It All Began
Growing up in China, it was almost inevitable that badminton would weave itself into the fabric of my childhood. Badminton is not just popular in China; globally, over a billion people are active participants. China alone accounts for about 600 million of these players, a testament to the sport’s profound cultural and athletic significance. In this vast landscape of shuttlecocks and rackets, my own story took root.
My first encounter with badminton happened when I was in the first or second grade. Just five minutes away from home, there was a large indoor badminton facility, boasting around 20 courts. It was there that fate introduced me to Coach Song Qinghua — a name that meant little to me at the time but now holds profound weight. A former head coach for Liaoning Province and a national youth team coach, her guidance ignited my passion for the game.
In those early years, my training was simple but joyful: one or two sessions a week, feeling the rhythm of the game seep into my bones. Even today, I can almost smell the faint scent of the “banana peel” textured flooring, hear the squeak of sneakers on the court, and see the shuttle soaring under the fluorescent lights.
Learning the Language of the Court
Badminton, I soon realized, is a language of its own — one spoken through footwork, wrist control, and endless patience. Training started from the ground up: mastering the correct grip for forehand and backhand strokes, learning how to swing without wasting energy, and most importantly, perfecting footwork. Quick, efficient movement between the front, mid, and backcourt isn’t optional; it’s essential.
Footwork, to me, remains the soul of badminton. You have to anticipate the shuttle’s path and reach it before it hits the ground, moving lightly but swiftly across the court. The goal is to return to the center after each shot, always ready for the next move. Running upright would waste precious seconds; instead, we practiced keeping a low center of gravity, gliding rather than stomping, a technique made possible by specialized badminton shoes similar in grip and support to basketball sneakers.
Then came the diverse strokes: high clears to push opponents back, powerful smashes to overwhelm them, delicate net shots to catch them off guard. Training demanded everything — explosive power, deep endurance, and excruciating flexibility work. I vividly remember the endless sessions of leg stretches, the almost unbearable soreness, but also the pride that came with slowly reaching farther and jumping higher.
Opening My Eyes: Competing at Tsinghua University
One of the defining moments of my childhood badminton journey was competing at Tsinghua University, often called China’s “MIT.” I didn’t win any medals, but that was never the point. Stepping onto those courts, surrounded by countless young talents, I realized the vastness of badminton’s appeal. It wasn’t just a hobby for a few; it was a passion for thousands.
That tournament broadened my horizons. It showed me how many people shared the same commitment to the sport, how much hard work and ambition buzzed in the air. Even though I left without a trophy, I came back with something far more valuable: a sense of belonging to a much larger community.
The Heartbreak of Letting Go
Around fifth and sixth grade, reality began to intrude. Academic pressure ramped up sharply, as students in Beijing face intense competition to enter elite middle schools. Study sessions replaced training sessions. At the same time, the badminton hall that had become my second home was suddenly demolished, leaving a void that proved impossible to fill.
Losing my training ground felt like losing a part of myself. Although there were other courts farther away, the increasing demands of school and the sheer inconvenience made continuing serious training unrealistic. Moreover, my eyesight had begun to deteriorate, a side effect of hours spent poring over textbooks. It made tracking the shuttle harder, undermining one of the most vital skills in badminton: quick and accurate judgment.
In the end, it wasn’t a grand decision to quit; it was a slow erosion. A combination of academic ambition, physical limitations, and lost infrastructure quietly ended what could have been a much longer athletic journey.
Badminton and Me Today
Despite everything, badminton never truly left me. Even now, I find myself picking up a racket a few times a year, reconnecting with the rhythm, the exhilaration, and the joy. Though my skills have faded somewhat, I believe that with dedication, I could still compete well among amateur players.
More importantly, badminton left a deeper mark on my character. It taught me resilience — the idea that victory rarely comes in one bold move but rather through careful setup, patient maneuvering, and seizing the perfect opportunity. It taught me to observe, to think critically, and to act decisively.
If I ever have children, I would love to see them holding a racket at five or six years old, stepping onto the court with wide eyes and eager hearts. Early training would not just build their bodies; it would teach them discipline, strategy, and the subtle art of perseverance. In a society where badminton remains a social glue, it would help them make friends, find belonging, and experience a shared joy.
Across the Ocean: Badminton in the U.S. vs China
After moving abroad, I quickly noticed the difference. In American universities, badminton courts exist but are often tucked away in less glamorous corners of gym facilities. The sport, while respected, is nowhere near as mainstream as it is in China. Community centers in major cities offer better courts, but again, the players are predominantly from Asian backgrounds.
Costs are notably different as well. In China, a beginner might pay 50 to 150 RMB ($7 to $20) per hour for coaching, while court rentals hover around 20 to 60 RMB ($3 to $8) per hour. Equipment like a decent racket, shoes, shuttlecocks, and appropriate sportswear could cost anywhere from 500 to 1000 RMB ($70 to $140). In the U.S., however, coaching and court rental fees can easily be 30% to 50% higher, with beginner equipment sets reaching $200 to $500.
Despite the logistical differences, badminton retains its magic. Whether in a bustling Chinese sports center or a quiet American community gym, the feeling of striking a perfect clear, the heartbeat of a well-timed smash, and the grin after winning a rally remain the same.
Badminton may have been the first sport I loved and left, but its impact on me endures. It reminds me that growth often begins with simple joys, that resilience is built one patient rally at a time, and that no matter where life takes you, some rhythms — like the sound of a shuttle meeting a racket — will always call you home.
Snow Liu's Web 
Leave a comment