I Ain't in Brooklyn No More

Yesterday I got my ass kicked by a jump rope. I had asked Steve to show me the proper form to jump, and what kind of rope to get. He gave me a rope and asked me to jump.

Memories of Brooklyn flooded back to me as I took the rope in my hands. The last time I had jumped rope for any amount of time was approximately 28 years ago. I was thinking of the rhymes we used to sing as I jumped: THUNK! THUNK! I sounded like an elephant, and I looked ridiculous.

Steve said, "See how hard you came down and how your knees were bent?" Turns out when you're jumping rope for fitness, you're supposed to jump lightly on the balls of your feet with your legs straight, just a light hop hop, as opposed to a THUNK THUNK. I was also double bouncing, which you need to do if you're chanting, "A my name is A-LEX, I live in ARI-ZON-A, my boyfriend's name is AL-BERT, and I sell APP-LES!" Alex in Brookline with no boyfriend needs to work out, not sell fruit.

Once I practiced a few times, I got better. He had me jump 10 times, then rest for 30 seconds. 10 more, then rest. Then 20 times, then 30. When I was done with 30, my face was all red and my legs felt like jelly. As I staggered off the mat like a drunken sailor, Steve asked me how I felt. I asked him if I was supposed to be walking like this (stagger stumble), and he said yes, because my muscles were saying, "What the hell???" Right.

I went straight to the sports store and got a leather jump rope with ball bearings on the handles so I could lightly flick the rope using my wrists instead of my whole arm. Eventually I'm supposed to look like a boxer in a training facility, skipping rope like I haven't a care in the world. I'll watch Rocky and Million Dollar Baby for inspiration.