Admission: After 50, jumping hurts

I'm holding this iceberg in my front yard partially responsible for my recent debilitating fitness activities.

Last week, during one of my strangest online shopping weeks ever … I bought two jump ropes.

Yes, I bought two jump ropes and a spongy ‘fitness mat’ to put down on the garage floor and attempt jumping rope a few times each week, trying to exercise when there’s mounds upon mounds of snow on the Colorado ground.

Unfortunately, the ropes arrived before the mat and I, a 53-year-old, somewhat careless woman, tried to jump rope in the garage without a spongy ‘fitness mat.’

In the process, I seem to have fractured everything below my rib cage.

Seriously, I didn’t know my sacral chakra could express so much emotion. Simply walking the dogs is an exercise in pain I’ve never endured before.

I keep rummaging through our medicine cabinets, looking for something stronger than three Advil and a glass of prosecco but can’t find anything. So, that’s my course of treatment for the foreseeable future. Advil, prosecco, couch. Pretty sure that’s what a medical professional would prescribe.

When I told The Weed I planned to jump rope myself into fitness in the garage, I said: ‘I’m exercising in the garage. Don’t come out here.’

He responded: ‘What are you doing? Jumping jacks? Because if it’s jumping jacks, I might need to investigate our medical deductible.’

I responded: ‘Close. I’m jumping rope. I jump rope now.’

He responded: ‘Well, that’s very trendy of you. Where’s the number for our insurance agent?’

And, with that, I went into the garage with a sense of pride for taking some initiative and starting a new exercise routine.

Exactly three minutes later, I was sweating through my head band.

I had tripped over the first jump rope so many times I threw it in the nearby trash can.

I moved on to the 1.5-pound jump rope and found it easier to maneuver but I suspect I will end up looking like Lou Ferrigno if I use it more than twice a week. (It’s a Muay Thai training rope that’s supposed to help with my balance and form when … I actually jump rope.)

Then, I called it a day, when the first of the stabbing pains began radiating in all of my southern equator.

Since then, I have been hanging on the banister like a scared child each time I walk up or down the stairs.

I have been sitting in my car in the driveway because it has heated seats and that’s the best way to make my back feel like it can function again.

And, I have been trying to not carry anything heavier than the aforementioned glass of prosecco.

I hope to unbox the spongy ‘fitness mat’ this weekend. Maybe roll it out on the garage floor and take a nap.

Turns out, my body is not quite ready for the aftermath of jumping rope after 50.