I was the kid who kicked and missed the kickball. I walked to first. I picked cloverflowers in the outfield. The only part of my body that ever played volley ball was my head, when the ball would ricochet off of it. I would've rather stuck my nose in a book than dodge a ball. In fact, I never quite understood (even at the tender elementary school age) the desire to throw a ball HARD at someone. Quite literally, it took hearing Taylor Swift squawk out 'songs' before I fully grasped the concept.
I lived my life in contentment, free of sports. Then two days ago all that changed. Michael is on a two week training, and I could just blame this on his absence. As in absence makes Amber believe she should try out sports.
Here's how it went down....
At the Unit/Company/will-i ever-figure-out-Army-terms Christmas party, I met another spouse. Barbara.
Later, I ran into her at German class. We exchanged emails.
Our guys go on training.
We emailed. We went to a play (Nutshell: Germans pretended to be Southern Americans "Let's go to Chic-filla, ya'll")
She says to me "Do you play raquetball?"
Me: No.
She: Would you like to learn?
Me: Sure. Sounds fun (What? WHY? why did I Say that?!)
She: Ok. Let's play tomorrow.
Me: Great!
I mean how hard can it be? Hit a ball off a wall. No problem...it's easy as someone rolling a ball towards you for you to kick....right?
She comes over to bring me with her to the gym. I'm wearing my normal zumba clothes...LONG exercise pants (to cover up the fact that husband gone=3 days unshaven legs) and a regular old tshirt.
Immediately I feel....underdressed. awkward.
Just to set the picture...just so you'll grasp my insecurity.. Allow me to describe Barbara.
She is very striking. She has a model's body, tall, thin, graceful. Her Polish accent makes men stop in their tracks.
And bare in mind she is SO nice that I didn't notice any of this until we were walking into the gym. She's in her cute gym clothes. Which immediately made me realize...she shops for gym clothes...I wear whatever is old enough to get soaked in an unwashable sweat smell and not care.
Standing next to her tallness, I immediately felt like she was Dorothy and I was in the lollipop guild welcoming her to munchkinland. There she is in those capri-style workout pants and a cute tank top..and not even a hint of a fat roll anywhere on her.
There I am in my ol' trusty bo duke tee and...well you get the picture....
I struggled putting on my goggles and felt like Amelia Earhart complete with bad hair, and quite sure that I was going to get lost over the wild and wooly seas of raquetball, never to be heard from again....
While Barbara gently glided on her goggles and looked...like she wasn't wearing any.
What? How did THAT happen?
So, whatever, this is about fun, right?
Uhm. ok. But...
She plays raquetball. And gracefully. She looked like a swan moving to whap that little demon blue ball back to the wall.
Then this poor girl blessed with short little Padgett legs looked like...the little engine that could...n't hit a ball to save a dolphin. Because unlike her, I expected the ball to come to me. Not the other way around.
And one time I even reached out to catch it. I actually tried to catch the ball. NOT the object of the game.
I don't need to do sports. Zumba, sure. The occasional stationary bike, gotcha. Maybe MAYBE an eliptical. Sports. Nein.
She would say "So only let dee ball bounce once. If it comes to you you haff to go leff or right to get it to hit to dee wall, ok?" Her polish accent echoing off of the little cage of doom we'd willingly closed ourself into.
When I did hit it (rare occasion) she would exclaim "Sehr GUT Frau Suman!"
My Amelia goggles were sweating. Not my body, mind you, no. The area around my eyes. Was. Sweating. I was foggin' up. Apparently those damn goggles were too tight, and they suction cupped themselves to my face. Not only that, while Barbara's bun was in perfect place, my pony tail was falling out and looking quite oily.
When we finished she removed her glasses, no sweat build up inside of them. She looked fresh as a daisy in may.
My goggles tangled in my lost-cause pony tail. She started giggling "You have to tell ya baby dat I gave you black eyes."
I said "what?"
She said "Ya goggles is too tight. Ya husband will say 'why you have black eyes?'"
I looked in the mirror...there it was. the perfect imprint of the goggles from forehead to cheekbones. But not black, beet red. No no, beet red is kinda pretty with the magenta tones...I'll just say it TOMATO red.
Barbara then took me to the stretch out room. "Ok, now we stretch."
Honestly, I didn't feel the need to stretch. I just stood there while "playing". I don't think I was at risk in pulling a muscle.
But ok. I'll stretch.
Let me explain...in this room there is a ballet bar along a mirrored wall. Barbara just places her leg swan like right up on the bar. Meanwhile shortie over here had to kick it up there. Several times just to get the foot on the bar. I may have even said HU! but let's not talk about that.....
We stretched...I felt like a gumdrop next to...a candy cane.
After all was said and done she said "Do you know what my nickname is?"
Me: No
She: Basia.
Me: Pretty.
She: We pretty good friends now, so you can call me Basia.
Me: You can call me.....on my house phone anytime.
(I have no cool nickname...and I was thisclose to making one up just to fit in...but I know my husband would eventually blow my cover...as in...
Basia: Hello Am-dizzle.
Me: S'up Basia!
Mike: Who is Am-dizzle?)
Basia then said....Ok we go to the commissary for junk food.
Ok Ms. Metabolism...have at it...I'll just have...a splenda packet or two...
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
I Used The Men's Room In Brussels.
My buddy, who has earned a variety of nicknames lately, (My current most-used nickname for him "Hunchy Bear" which I created while trying to say Honey/Monkey/Buddy Bear.) surprised me with a New Years Trip to London.
And at first, I thought it was a joke.
But the boyish grin on his cute little face convinced me that he was in fact telling the honest to buddha truth.
Only catch? We were traveling caravan style on a charter bus.
Before I knew it, we were standing in the snow in front of the chapel, waiting with other shiver-ers for our bus. We scored the other front row seats on the top level of the bus, So we had a clear view of the road, and the motion sickness was cut way down to zip.
Nothing but nothing could prepare us for a 10 hour bus trip across Europe on a bus full of soldiers. At about 12am, I was roused from slumber by two disgruntled soldiers in each others faces. Yelling obsenities at each other, and just before it came to blows, someone came to the rescue and seperated the feuding duo.
Mike woke up and tried to stand up and then said "What's going on?"
Shortly after that, I watched as we blazed (however much 'blazing' you can do at 100 kph) past the sign Nederlands. I smiled. Out of Germany, finally.
I fell asleep and woke up in Brussels. I had no idea when we'd even gotten to Belgium. I just NEEDED to use the bathroom. And I needed 70 euro cents and quick.
I rushed into the bathroom and to my surprise, the bathroom break was a freebie. I wiped the sleep from my eyes just to insure I wasn't dreaming. Then I saw it. Yellow tape over the women's room. All that was available was a Handi and the mens room.
The handi was occupied in a situation very similar to a woman in the movie The Sweetest Thing.
Our "tour guide" a long haired non-rick steves said "Don't worry, I'll hold the line. Go on in." And he motioned to the mens room.
It was dark in there. Dark and intimidating.
There was artwork that I couldn't read, and didn't even want to try to GUESS at the I'm sure Foul Words that adorned the shakey stall walls.
I imerged a changed more jaded woman.
But no less, we were still enroute to Jolly ol'...and I couldn't wait. I was chomping at the bit to step into London. The city I'd dreamed of over and over again as a little girl.
I fell asleep again and woke up just in time to see the Welcome to France sign. I got adrenaline rush. I felt like dancing up and down the aisle of the bus singing "I could've danced allll night!" there I was, in FRANCE. In FRANCE. Who cares if it wasn't Paris. That will come in due time...but France! I thought half way of waking up my snoring Sumie. But I was just too excited. I took it all in. The little houses, the farmland, the factories...all from the light of street lights because really at 4 in the morning, how much light is there?
When we made it to the ferry, my excitement grew. There, as we crossed the channel and England came into view, stood the gorgeous white cliffs of Dover.
I got another stamp in my passport welcoming to me England.
We'd made it.
There we were driving on the wrong side of the road, right into London.
There was no sun light, only foggy overcast. I wanted to cry as we got to London. The houses all lined up, early birds up to get their coffee, tea, donuts, whatever were walking across the zebra crossings. And all I wanted to do was cry. I was THAT excited.
And when our bus went into the city I took it all in. I pointed excitedly to St. Paul's.
We weren't aware that our tour began...immediately. No showers, no freshening up because hotel check in wasn't until 2pm. And here we are at 7am rolling into London, tourists sardine can style.
I chose to wear pj's on the overnight trip. Because...well who wouldn't? It was, after all, most comfortable.
So, when we got off the bus, there I was, in a sleep shirt, and loungie pants, and winter boots. Basically not the outfit I wanted to wear when I first stood under Big Ben. But even the lack of 'real' clothes didn't extinguish my exhuberance.
We walked past Big Ben, West Minster Abbey, into St. Jame's Park where everything was green, and there were swans swimming as though it's no-big deal. I skipped when I saw the Diana Princess of Wales Memorial Trail Marker.
How could I be anything but speechless as the guards on horseback trotted past us on the way to Buckingham Palace?
Standing there by the Palace I'd seen in my many many royal books, I said "Wow. The Balcony isn't as high as I thought it would be." I stood there staring at my childhood dreams. I thought to myself, If someone would've told me when I was a little girl that I'd be standing right by Buckingham Palace....well, I'd feel just as excited then as I do right now.
The good news about our trip, is Michael and I ditched the tour group. For a variety of reasons..the first being...we didn't want to be limited on what we could see/do in our limited time. AND there was a girl on the tour that when she saw ANYTHING with the name Victoria on it she had to ask "But where is the Secrets"
Honestly, we didn't want to deal with the stupidity on this trip...we wanted to mingle with Brits. We wanted to walk down little side streets, we wanted to Mind the Gap, and climb to the Whispering Gallery.
In our few days there we managed to eat fish and chips, see Queen Elizabeth I's tomb, stand where Diana's coffin was during her funeral, Stand in the exact spot where Fergie married Andrew and where William will marry Kate (Everyone gently corrected me calling her Catherine.)
We climbed the stairs of St. Paul's just the same ones Diana climbed on her wedding day. We walked hand in hand down the long aisle at St. Paul's to stand exactly where she curtisied to the queen on that day.
We watched street shows in Trafalgar Square, ate Mcdonald's standing outside the crowded Piccadilly Circus McD's.
I walked the soles off my boots. Happily.
In St. Paul's while we bought a little souvenir bird and plaque, a man said "Where's home?" (Mike & I agreed to say we were from Maryland since being from two different places takes longer to answer that question)
Once we started talking to him, we told him we were actually from Georgia and Seattle. He then began telling us about our respective football teams. It was really awesome to get football updates from a British guy. We smiled about that for days.
Our New Years eve we found ourselves right by the River Thames across from the Eye of London. We enjoyed watching crazy people dancing, all the funny hats, and generally taking part in the good cheer. The fireworks were absolutely unreal. I got misty eyed when everyone sang Auld Lange Syne.
One thing is certain. I did not want to return to Bamberg. I loved England. I loved the friendly faces. I truly loved not having to 'think' about the words to use, the conjugation of verbs before ordering food, or talking to people.
But we did have to come back to Bamberg, where snow mounds awaited, and dreams of London hung like fog in our hearts and minds.
And at first, I thought it was a joke.
But the boyish grin on his cute little face convinced me that he was in fact telling the honest to buddha truth.
Only catch? We were traveling caravan style on a charter bus.
Before I knew it, we were standing in the snow in front of the chapel, waiting with other shiver-ers for our bus. We scored the other front row seats on the top level of the bus, So we had a clear view of the road, and the motion sickness was cut way down to zip.
Nothing but nothing could prepare us for a 10 hour bus trip across Europe on a bus full of soldiers. At about 12am, I was roused from slumber by two disgruntled soldiers in each others faces. Yelling obsenities at each other, and just before it came to blows, someone came to the rescue and seperated the feuding duo.
Mike woke up and tried to stand up and then said "What's going on?"
Shortly after that, I watched as we blazed (however much 'blazing' you can do at 100 kph) past the sign Nederlands. I smiled. Out of Germany, finally.
I fell asleep and woke up in Brussels. I had no idea when we'd even gotten to Belgium. I just NEEDED to use the bathroom. And I needed 70 euro cents and quick.
I rushed into the bathroom and to my surprise, the bathroom break was a freebie. I wiped the sleep from my eyes just to insure I wasn't dreaming. Then I saw it. Yellow tape over the women's room. All that was available was a Handi and the mens room.
The handi was occupied in a situation very similar to a woman in the movie The Sweetest Thing.
Our "tour guide" a long haired non-rick steves said "Don't worry, I'll hold the line. Go on in." And he motioned to the mens room.
It was dark in there. Dark and intimidating.
There was artwork that I couldn't read, and didn't even want to try to GUESS at the I'm sure Foul Words that adorned the shakey stall walls.
I imerged a changed more jaded woman.
But no less, we were still enroute to Jolly ol'...and I couldn't wait. I was chomping at the bit to step into London. The city I'd dreamed of over and over again as a little girl.
I fell asleep again and woke up just in time to see the Welcome to France sign. I got adrenaline rush. I felt like dancing up and down the aisle of the bus singing "I could've danced allll night!" there I was, in FRANCE. In FRANCE. Who cares if it wasn't Paris. That will come in due time...but France! I thought half way of waking up my snoring Sumie. But I was just too excited. I took it all in. The little houses, the farmland, the factories...all from the light of street lights because really at 4 in the morning, how much light is there?
When we made it to the ferry, my excitement grew. There, as we crossed the channel and England came into view, stood the gorgeous white cliffs of Dover.
I got another stamp in my passport welcoming to me England.
We'd made it.
There we were driving on the wrong side of the road, right into London.
There was no sun light, only foggy overcast. I wanted to cry as we got to London. The houses all lined up, early birds up to get their coffee, tea, donuts, whatever were walking across the zebra crossings. And all I wanted to do was cry. I was THAT excited.
And when our bus went into the city I took it all in. I pointed excitedly to St. Paul's.
We weren't aware that our tour began...immediately. No showers, no freshening up because hotel check in wasn't until 2pm. And here we are at 7am rolling into London, tourists sardine can style.
I chose to wear pj's on the overnight trip. Because...well who wouldn't? It was, after all, most comfortable.
So, when we got off the bus, there I was, in a sleep shirt, and loungie pants, and winter boots. Basically not the outfit I wanted to wear when I first stood under Big Ben. But even the lack of 'real' clothes didn't extinguish my exhuberance.
We walked past Big Ben, West Minster Abbey, into St. Jame's Park where everything was green, and there were swans swimming as though it's no-big deal. I skipped when I saw the Diana Princess of Wales Memorial Trail Marker.
How could I be anything but speechless as the guards on horseback trotted past us on the way to Buckingham Palace?
Standing there by the Palace I'd seen in my many many royal books, I said "Wow. The Balcony isn't as high as I thought it would be." I stood there staring at my childhood dreams. I thought to myself, If someone would've told me when I was a little girl that I'd be standing right by Buckingham Palace....well, I'd feel just as excited then as I do right now.
The good news about our trip, is Michael and I ditched the tour group. For a variety of reasons..the first being...we didn't want to be limited on what we could see/do in our limited time. AND there was a girl on the tour that when she saw ANYTHING with the name Victoria on it she had to ask "But where is the Secrets"
Honestly, we didn't want to deal with the stupidity on this trip...we wanted to mingle with Brits. We wanted to walk down little side streets, we wanted to Mind the Gap, and climb to the Whispering Gallery.
In our few days there we managed to eat fish and chips, see Queen Elizabeth I's tomb, stand where Diana's coffin was during her funeral, Stand in the exact spot where Fergie married Andrew and where William will marry Kate (Everyone gently corrected me calling her Catherine.)
We climbed the stairs of St. Paul's just the same ones Diana climbed on her wedding day. We walked hand in hand down the long aisle at St. Paul's to stand exactly where she curtisied to the queen on that day.
We watched street shows in Trafalgar Square, ate Mcdonald's standing outside the crowded Piccadilly Circus McD's.
I walked the soles off my boots. Happily.
In St. Paul's while we bought a little souvenir bird and plaque, a man said "Where's home?" (Mike & I agreed to say we were from Maryland since being from two different places takes longer to answer that question)
Once we started talking to him, we told him we were actually from Georgia and Seattle. He then began telling us about our respective football teams. It was really awesome to get football updates from a British guy. We smiled about that for days.
Our New Years eve we found ourselves right by the River Thames across from the Eye of London. We enjoyed watching crazy people dancing, all the funny hats, and generally taking part in the good cheer. The fireworks were absolutely unreal. I got misty eyed when everyone sang Auld Lange Syne.
One thing is certain. I did not want to return to Bamberg. I loved England. I loved the friendly faces. I truly loved not having to 'think' about the words to use, the conjugation of verbs before ordering food, or talking to people.
But we did have to come back to Bamberg, where snow mounds awaited, and dreams of London hung like fog in our hearts and minds.
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