Thwock… thud. Thwock… thud.

I feel like, after all these days, I should have something to write about. I don’t, but that’s apparently not going to stop me. This “blog” thing is going to kill me.

I think the rope jumping is starting to have an effect. It hasn’t gotten any easier, and my legs constantly feel as if they’re going to fall off, but I look a bet less lush than usual. Just a bit, mind you; it’s probably all in my head. If it’s not all in my head, it’s probably a normal tiny fluctuation. If it’s not a normal tiny fluctuation, it’s probably something else I haven’t considered. I have managed to convince myself, however, that it’s the rope jumping. This is how I get through the day. “My legs are going to EXPLODE, I QUIT… Oh, hey, I may or may not have lost a pound! Maybe I’ll just do fifty more jumps.”

Yes. I’m still measuring my output in incredibly small numbers. If I look any smaller at all, it’s due not to the actual jumping but to the calories I expend trying to figure out how many calories I’ve burned with fifty jumps, trying to convince myself to jump some more, and figuring out my target heart rate. Running is easy. The whole point of Couch to 5k was that it got me running three miles. I know how far that it is, how long it will take, and what it will do for my body. The rope thing is still pretty nebulous. (And, if we’re going for another n-word, nefarious. Seriously, I heard that rope cackling last night.)

Connor is extremely amused by all of this. When Michael comes home each day he is greeted by a small voice saying, “Daddy! Mommy was jumping the kitchen and it was SO FUNNY!” I’ve tried to convince Connor to jump with me — the kid jumps up and down all day long on his own so this should be right up his alley — but apparently he enjoys the spectacle of Mommy flailing about way too much. His is not to do or die, his is but to question why: “Why are you jumping, Mommy? Why did you fall down? Why are you stomping? Why did your arm do that?”

I mean, it’s so easy to answer a barrage of questions when you’re gasping for breath. “Mommy… is… jumping… to be… strong! And… HEALTHY. [Wheeze.]” This is what we tell him when we talk about exercise and good food. We need to eat our vegetables to grow strong and healthy, we like to play outside because it helps us be strong and healthy, we’re going to have salmon because it helps our brains grow strong and healthy. I think the argument is starting to lose value, though, because Mommy jumping rope looks like a weak idiot with Tourettes, gasping and flailing and sometimes falling down. The bright side, of course, is the humor value. “Did you fall down to grow strong and healthy?” he asked me the other day.

Of course I did, baby. This is my most masterful plan.


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