Jump Rope Class
So, after I went to the gym sola, I get a text from my girlfriend Tiffany in the evening, “Anyone want to go to jump rope class?”
First, let me explain about Tiffany. When you hear the name, you think of a certain type of person. Let me say right here right now, she fits the definition of her name: always cute, always happy, hair always in place, makeup always perfect, always beautiful in every single way. Me? My armpits smell, even though I put on deodorant….twice. I have kid vomit stains running down my back and I’m pretty sure also forming cheese along my neck. I have dark circles under my eyes: a combination of no sleep for the past week and old mascara that I haven’t had the time or care to remove. You could say my hair is in a ponytail, but even that is a stretch. And I don’t think I’ve shaved since my in laws watched my kids. Don’t get me wrong… I AM sexy ...and cute too… but when the smell of a person hits you before the sight of them, that is the image that stays in your mind. Not the fact that I am hot. (You know, its okay for women to say the things they don’t like about themselves… I am really against that. I think you should be just as willing to say you have one hot set of legs (which I do) if you are willing to say you smell like putrid monkey poop (which I also do). Its not conceited, it’s the truth).
Anyway. So, I accompany happy Tiffany (whom I love and adore) to what we call “Jump Rope Class.” We arrive at 6:31 and the class is already SPRINTING in a circle around the gym. What the crap? This should have been my first sign.
“Come on ladies! Get with the group!” Oh dear God. Its some Russian chick. Not good. Have you ever seen the Russians in the Olympics? Kick…my…. Butt. I join. The people in the circle are jogging, I am sprinting. And cannot keep up. Tiffany’s hair is still in place. Whatever, I just had a baby. Leave me alone. I don’t see any nursing pads outlining your sports bra my Russian comrad.
We pick up the jump rope and are instructed to start with some “light jumping.” Holy crap. I think the babies have suppressed my ability for lift off. I cannot jump. Ha ha. I cannot jump again. Ha ha. And now I can’t stop laughing. Russian dictator stares at me. Yes ma’am! I put my head down and stop laughing. Must jump or die. Whew… lift off. Thank the bloody stars! But I trip on my jump rope. Ha ha, that’s funny. After a few seconds I get into the groove and whaddaya know… my jump roping champion days from fifth grade have come back to help me. I got it, I got it, I got it…
I start breaking into a sweat. A pretty heavy one too and I think I cannot do this anymore. I sneak off to get some water and check my phone. Please God let Colton be crying and let Ben have called to say he needs me home STAT. No luck. Russian lady saw me. Crap. Back to jumproping.
“Now I want you to jump lifting your KNEES!!!” Lifting my WHAT? How about I lift my KNEES into your FOREHEAD??? Would you like that? My anger fuels me and I lift a knee. But just one because holy crap this woman is CRAZY. Jump rope AND lift my knees? I pretend to try but I’m really looking into the mirror backwards at the clock. Dang it! Only 8 minutes have gone by. I have 37 left of this torture! I think she is a part of the Spy Ring that was just busted a few days ago. Someone please come arrest this chick so I can go home!!
“Now I want you to lift your HEELS!” I will lift my heels. But only if you stand right behind me, and sideways, so I can kick you over. Will you stop ordering me THEN you crazy honking loonatic? Tiffany is not even sweating. I want to smack her. Her and her “great ideas.” I’m getting water. Again.
We are told to put our jump ropes down. Thank God. Because now we are going to do lunges? With a weight bar? “Grab the yellow or the green! THE YELLOW OR THE GREEN!!” Yes, I heard you. I’m just not going to do it. Grab the bar my butt. You want me to add an extra 15 or 18 pounds? You have gone and LOST your mind woman. I will lunge on my own, thankyouverymuch.
I get five lunges down and Ms. Slavedriver comes over to me, eyes crossed, disappointment radiating from her soul, “everything alright Miss?” I can’t take it anymore. Hoping for a shred of sympathy I confess with a smile, “I just had a baby.” Her eyes narrow. “When?” When?! When what you crackhead? Whenever I SAY I did. “Three months ago.” “Hm…. I guess it is okay then for you to take it a bit slower.” I want to go home, grab a vomit filled burp cloth, bring it BACK, and smack you with it across the face.
The rest of the class goes the same. This is not smiley “Jump Rope Class.” This is the class of Death. When we finally get to the end where we do sit ups, which I actually CAN do, I am further mortified as I realize why everyone else is wearing pants as opposed to running shorts. Because when you stretch, aaaaaallll your junk hangs out of the breezy flaps that you thought were ohsoconvenient. Fantastic. I am the slow, unjumpable, pantyshowing postpartum chick. Awesome.
Tiffany's hair is still in place. “Did you like it?” She says, flashing her amazing smile with THE whitest teeth I have ever seen on a human. I think she only drinks milk. “That was hard dude.” “You want to go next week?” I would rather drive a nail through my head next week. “Sure! It will be fun!” I hate my friend Tiffany.
First, let me explain about Tiffany. When you hear the name, you think of a certain type of person. Let me say right here right now, she fits the definition of her name: always cute, always happy, hair always in place, makeup always perfect, always beautiful in every single way. Me? My armpits smell, even though I put on deodorant….twice. I have kid vomit stains running down my back and I’m pretty sure also forming cheese along my neck. I have dark circles under my eyes: a combination of no sleep for the past week and old mascara that I haven’t had the time or care to remove. You could say my hair is in a ponytail, but even that is a stretch. And I don’t think I’ve shaved since my in laws watched my kids. Don’t get me wrong… I AM sexy ...and cute too… but when the smell of a person hits you before the sight of them, that is the image that stays in your mind. Not the fact that I am hot. (You know, its okay for women to say the things they don’t like about themselves… I am really against that. I think you should be just as willing to say you have one hot set of legs (which I do) if you are willing to say you smell like putrid monkey poop (which I also do). Its not conceited, it’s the truth).
Anyway. So, I accompany happy Tiffany (whom I love and adore) to what we call “Jump Rope Class.” We arrive at 6:31 and the class is already SPRINTING in a circle around the gym. What the crap? This should have been my first sign.
“Come on ladies! Get with the group!” Oh dear God. Its some Russian chick. Not good. Have you ever seen the Russians in the Olympics? Kick…my…. Butt. I join. The people in the circle are jogging, I am sprinting. And cannot keep up. Tiffany’s hair is still in place. Whatever, I just had a baby. Leave me alone. I don’t see any nursing pads outlining your sports bra my Russian comrad.
We pick up the jump rope and are instructed to start with some “light jumping.” Holy crap. I think the babies have suppressed my ability for lift off. I cannot jump. Ha ha. I cannot jump again. Ha ha. And now I can’t stop laughing. Russian dictator stares at me. Yes ma’am! I put my head down and stop laughing. Must jump or die. Whew… lift off. Thank the bloody stars! But I trip on my jump rope. Ha ha, that’s funny. After a few seconds I get into the groove and whaddaya know… my jump roping champion days from fifth grade have come back to help me. I got it, I got it, I got it…
I start breaking into a sweat. A pretty heavy one too and I think I cannot do this anymore. I sneak off to get some water and check my phone. Please God let Colton be crying and let Ben have called to say he needs me home STAT. No luck. Russian lady saw me. Crap. Back to jumproping.
“Now I want you to jump lifting your KNEES!!!” Lifting my WHAT? How about I lift my KNEES into your FOREHEAD??? Would you like that? My anger fuels me and I lift a knee. But just one because holy crap this woman is CRAZY. Jump rope AND lift my knees? I pretend to try but I’m really looking into the mirror backwards at the clock. Dang it! Only 8 minutes have gone by. I have 37 left of this torture! I think she is a part of the Spy Ring that was just busted a few days ago. Someone please come arrest this chick so I can go home!!
“Now I want you to lift your HEELS!” I will lift my heels. But only if you stand right behind me, and sideways, so I can kick you over. Will you stop ordering me THEN you crazy honking loonatic? Tiffany is not even sweating. I want to smack her. Her and her “great ideas.” I’m getting water. Again.
We are told to put our jump ropes down. Thank God. Because now we are going to do lunges? With a weight bar? “Grab the yellow or the green! THE YELLOW OR THE GREEN!!” Yes, I heard you. I’m just not going to do it. Grab the bar my butt. You want me to add an extra 15 or 18 pounds? You have gone and LOST your mind woman. I will lunge on my own, thankyouverymuch.
I get five lunges down and Ms. Slavedriver comes over to me, eyes crossed, disappointment radiating from her soul, “everything alright Miss?” I can’t take it anymore. Hoping for a shred of sympathy I confess with a smile, “I just had a baby.” Her eyes narrow. “When?” When?! When what you crackhead? Whenever I SAY I did. “Three months ago.” “Hm…. I guess it is okay then for you to take it a bit slower.” I want to go home, grab a vomit filled burp cloth, bring it BACK, and smack you with it across the face.
The rest of the class goes the same. This is not smiley “Jump Rope Class.” This is the class of Death. When we finally get to the end where we do sit ups, which I actually CAN do, I am further mortified as I realize why everyone else is wearing pants as opposed to running shorts. Because when you stretch, aaaaaallll your junk hangs out of the breezy flaps that you thought were ohsoconvenient. Fantastic. I am the slow, unjumpable, pantyshowing postpartum chick. Awesome.
Tiffany's hair is still in place. “Did you like it?” She says, flashing her amazing smile with THE whitest teeth I have ever seen on a human. I think she only drinks milk. “That was hard dude.” “You want to go next week?” I would rather drive a nail through my head next week. “Sure! It will be fun!” I hate my friend Tiffany.
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