Last One Picked for the Team

Somehow, my two mortal enemies friends Amy and Keefer talked me into playing kickball on a co-ed team this season.

Pick me...please?

"It's kickball", they said. "You don't have to be coordinated, and we'll go to the bar afterwards. Plus, there will be hot guys."

No coordination necessary? Drinks? Good looking men?

Check, check, and check.

I still hesitated, because while I am good at many things, running, catching, and kicking are not among them. Ultimately, I agreed. Poor choice. Because, yes, there were hot guys, but before you go to the bar you actually have to play five innings of kickball. Five innings that totally consist of running, catching, and kicking.

My inner adolescent fat girl self still has major anxiety over contact sports. I was always the last one picked for the team (rightly so), and I've been smacked in the face with a wayward volleyball one too many times. I like yoga. And swimming. And walking.

What I don't like is being heckled by fat guys on the other team who seem to confuse kickball with the World Series. Dude? Chill out.

Our team captain warily put me out in right field (aka where nothing happens) which I was grateful for. I still spent each half an inning praying that no one would kick the ball my way, since then it would be my job to catch it. Or run after it, which would be even worse.

On the bright side, I made it up to bat twice, and even got on base once. It's practically a miracle. And the bar we went to afterwards? $1 Bud Light drafts. Now that's what I signed up for.