Jump! Jump!

My wife came home the other day and started a conversation with the phrase, "I hope you don't mind..." The really *good* conversations always start out like this.

It turns out she bought a jump rope.

You see, we have a buddy who recently bought a treadmill. We've actually talked about getting one, but even the relatively "low" expense of a bottom-of-the-line model is more than we'd like to voluntary dish out.

So my wife saw jump ropes at the store and decided to give it a try. If it works out for us, it'll be a way to exercise indoors for less than 4 bucks.

My wife tried it first. We're both out of practice by a couple of decades, but she did pretty well. Then it was my turn.

I never really liked that light fixture.

I was amazed at how hard it is to jump rope post-childhood. This isn't like riding a bike. This is much more traumatic. The whip marks on my ankles made it look like I'd just escaped a prison camp. I nearly decapitated myself twice. I lost a finger.

My wife's goal is try to stay in shape. My goal is to make the bleeding stop.