The Agony of the Feet

26 07 2012

In my younger days…much younger days… I could really jump a rope. I could jump forward, backward, crossover, crossover while jumping backward-oh, I could make a jump rope do about anything I wanted it to. In fact, at one time, I probably had the school record for number of jumps in a minute. I don’t recall exactly,  but it was something like 40,000 jumps in 60 seconds. Well, maybe not quite that high. Phil Lamb and I always seemed to be neck and neck.

 

My doctor has been riding my butt like a bumper on a Buick about exercising more. So, about three years ago I bought a jump rope. That was my first mistake. My second mistake was letting my wife know I had bought a jump rope. I told her I was going to jump my way back to fitness and get my six-pack back just for her. She told me I never lost my six-pack. It’s the plastic six-pack ring that used to keep them together I don’t have any more. They’re just all kind of lying loose in the bottom of the bag. Ya see. That’s what I mean. Don’t proudly announce to your wife that you’re going to do anything that requires discipline and motivation. Not only do I have to put up with ridicule like this, but she’s constantly saying things like, “If the dryer ever quits on us we can just string that rope of yours across the backyard to hang clothes on.” Or, “Why don’t you see what you can get for that rope on eBay?”

 

These days I find it hard to motivate myself to get out and exercise. I used to walk on a daily basis. I rode my son’s bike until he moved out and took it with him, so I bought a stationary bike. It’s still stationary-completely stationary. But the other night, I decided the time had come and I was definitely going to start exercising by jumping rope. I laid out my exercise clothes and rope so I could get out early and not wake my wife. By six AM, I was out on the driveway jumping rope.

 

I jumped for what seemed a good half-hour, and decided that was enough, so I came inside to get my morning shower. When I checked the time, I saw I had only been jumping for five minutes.

 

This morning when I awoke, I found it a little harder to push myself out of bed but managed to convince myself it was the right thing to do.  When my feet hit the floor it was like jumping onto a bed of hot coals. My feet were so sore. But I persevered. I went outside and speed-jumped, at least that’s what I call it. That means I did a half-hour’s worth of jumping in five minutes. Now my feet feel better, but the muscles in my legs are killing me. The sad thing is, all that hard work and it hasn’t done a thing for my six-pack!

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