Is it jump roping or jumping rope?

Teddy bear, teddy bear OR King of the Mountain?

The risk of getting whipped when jump roping is part of the fun of jumping rope. That, and feeling like a boxer. Yes, I do get lost in fantasy sometimes (a lot). I like to imagine that I’m light on my toes; that, maybe, I could float like a butterfly and sting like a bee; that, maybe, I am dexterous and deft.

We can all fantasize, right? Seriously though, check this out—Floyd Mayweather’s timing is amazing. I do a gentler, slower almost 50 year old version. If Floyd is hard rock, I’m acoustic.

I started jumping rope back in third grade—pretty sure that’s when most girls had the coordination to get serious about it. It was also one of those sports that was acceptable and encouraged for girls. It conditioned us to take turns and work together. Even if it got competitive, you could only jump until the song was over then it was another girl’s turn. Really, a perfect game for girls. If you were an expert and made it to the counting part at the end of the song, your friends would give you a dose of white hot pepper and swing the rope so fast you didn’t stand a chance. My point is, it was never a game of pure domination. There was no king of the mountain, no last-man-standing with the dodgeball, it was not preparation to rule, it was preparation to get along. I think that’s what girls were supposed to learn back then, how to get along and stay in the pack.

Sometimes, I get all high and mighty, or angry when I think about the perceived conditioning we had as kids—the games we were told to play, and the games we weren’t allowed to play. Other times, like now, I am grateful.

Recently, I’ve had some big deadlines, so this body o’mine sits or stands at the computer for most of the day. I’m developing text neck, a dowagers hump, and definitely a flat a$$, but I have this fun skill from 40 years ago that wakes me up on winter mornings. I go to the Y, and stretch, uncurl, and then jump rope—it gets the engine running and helps me control my mind.

Remember, I do tend to go off the rails.

I make myself count each revolution and when I am counting and jumping, there is no other thought that can be thunk. Nothing can creep in or out, because I am fully engaged in a single task. My dad calls it “mono-tasking.” It’s his way of fighting back against the perpetual demands for communication and boundaryless interactions we call multi-tasking. My friend Ursula calls it “mindfulness.” Whatever word we give it, it reminds me that I have a choice about what I think about.

In this new world, I hope we teach the all kids how to jump rope, and how to be king (Thanks for showing me, Florence and the Machine). Then they can choose.