Trying on sports for size

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...