Jump in!

My daughter is teaching me to jump rope. I already know how to jump rope—I learned along with other little girls of my generation. But my daughter really wants to teach me, and doesn’t believe my childhood knowledge. I admit, those cells have been free-radical fodder for many years…it doesn’t hurt to have a refresher course.

We’re starting simple…single jumps, double jumps. I can do about 20 before collapsing. My daughter, who’s been in jump-rope club for months, smiles encouragingly while jumping on one foot, backward, turning full circles. She jumps rope for hours without breaking a sweat—I’m pretty sure I never had that ability.

I’ve babied my bad left knee for so long that I’m kind of a wimp about joint-jarring activities. I was a gymnast in younger days and pay dearly for it now… So I brace my knee, wear running shoes and jump on the carpet—I think I’ve covered the safety issues.

While my energizer daughter jumps and chats, spins and chats, skips and chats, I do my 20 jumps and pretend I’m having fun. I'm breathing too hard to talk, but disguise it with interest in her engaging conversation. I do enjoy the time with her, and she’s a patient teacher. If I live to 25 jumps, I might hit the fun part…