Why didn’t any of you tell me what a rockin’ game is badminton? On Saturday morning, Jürgen took us to his gym, which seemed just like a nice fitness center in the U.S. except instead a sweatshop’s worth of exercise machines, this place featured tennis and badminton and racquetball courts. Hand-eye coordination has never been my strong suit (nor foot-eye coordination as my outing in the social studies department kickball team most recently demonstrated). Before we set out, I looked up some key phrases I expected to need. “Sorry I missed that,” “Where did the shuttlecock go?”, “Look out for that flying racket!”, “Ooh, so sorry I bashed your nose with my racket”…. In the end, no blood was spilled, and I adored the badminton, hitting the shuttlecock more than I whiffed. Hopefully Jürgen will take us again next weekend.
The next morning, I woke up with such sore hamstrings! Before heading to breakfast, I looked up “sore” in our wörterbuch, and found there is no such expression. I could only say that my legs hurt, according to the dictionary. I could not imbue the meaning that my muscles suffered from the previous day’s exertions. So, I made do and told Jürgen my legs hurt. Martina piped up with something I couldn’t understand, and Aaron translated: “My legs have a hangover.” Which is for sure exactly what I meant. No more soreness for me. Even in English I think I will explain forever after that my muscles are hungover.