Director's Dare
Might As Well Jump!
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
When I was a kid, I lived on the trampoline.
I have a very vivid memory of going to what I thought was a "trampoline store" in Nephi, Utah and bouncing on that huge back disk surrounded by a ring of blue. Laughing, bouncing, falling and laughing more.
Later, I remember spending time with my dad, after our family had moved to Ashton, Idaho, as he held on to my belt loop and thrust my feet over my head as I learned to do a back flip.
Together: One... (bounce) Two... (bounce)
Me: Wait, wait, wait. Do you mean one, two three and THEN go? Or do you mean one, two, and then go on three?
Dad: One, two and then go on three.
After I had mastered the procedure I remember spending many afternoons teaching my younger sisters the techniques of flying over backward and avoiding the almost inevitable crash directly onto the head.
Together: (bounce) Two... (bounce)
Leesa: Wait, wait, wait. Do you mean one, two three and THEN go? Or do you mean one, two, and then go on three.
Me: "Why are little sisters so dumb?"
I remember hot summer days and the thrill of putting the sprinkler under the 'tramp' for a cool down. I remember lying on my back under piles of blankets and sleeping bags, head propped up on a pillow, staring into the cold darkness of the night sky, trying to make pictures out of the tiny, shining points scattered on the nighttime tapestry. I remember waking up the next morning with my brothers and sisters all clumped together in the middle of the 'tramp,' and bounding out from under the covers to wake everyone up at the crack of dawn. Obviously, I was the favored sibling of my clan.
I remember playing 'Crack the Egg,' 'Dodge Ball' and a peculiar game we invented and called 'Mutate,' which consisted of a sing-song rhyme and rolling around with one's legs up over one's shoulders and trying to touch the other players while they avoided contact at all costs. These wonderful competitions were interrupted only by the occasional meal and long, slurping drinks from the green garden hose.
I remember 'karate' fights and wrestling matches. I remember the exhilaration of flying through the air from the roof of the house or a shed, bouncing even higher on the rebound and straining to not fly off onto the ground.
I remember using the sturdy, metal frame as a makeshift boxing ring where my younger brother and I, with two pairs of last year's winter gloves on each hand acted out Rocky I, II, III and IV, pummeling each other for fun - no fair hitting in the face.
I remember family reunions and picnics, hamburgers, hotdogs and green Jell-O salad and all varieties of punches, sodas and juices, eaten in the sun or eaten in the shade, but always eaten on the 'tramp.'
I remember shoveling four feet of Idaho-winter snow off the trampoline so we could jump in January. Then doing it again so we could jump in February. I remember making snow angels, launching myself far into the air and sinking into the fresh, clean, unmolested powder, waving my arms, but not my legs because I didn't make "girl" snow seraphim.
I also remember the excitement I felt when my small family and I bought our first home and after everything was signed, dotted and crossed, the very first purchase we made for the back yard was a trampoline.
I've always had a special place in my heart for the trampoline. About the only thing I haven't done on one is compete.
Now, keep in mind that most of my relationship with the trampoline ended when I was about 16 and deemed myself much too cool to jump any more. But, what the heck, Mr. Timothy McGraw once said, "A heart don't forget, something like that." Of course he was also known for walking around with a Bar-B-Q stained T-Shirt and being a really bad boy, but that's beside the point.
I contacted Charity Christiansen, Power Tumbling Coordinator and got the low-down on the Trampoline event. She sent me a routine to practice.
The other night I went out to the trampoline in the back yard. With a confident swagger I approached the apparatus that had been such a huge part of my formative years.
"This would be easy," thought I, as I grasped the cool metal frame and surveyed the black jumping area. It was much smaller that I remembered.
In one graceful movement, I swung both legs up and out to the side, catching my toes on the frame and tying myself in to a knot with the springs and weathered blue pad.
Exactly three minutes and 17 seconds later I was gasping for breath, my entire head was crimson and I was staggering on weakened legs trying to remain upright.
Not exactly how I had remembered it.
June 17 - 18 will be a blast!
Labels: trampoline
