Well, I’ve done it again. I’ve ordered a piece of workout equipment. I don’t know why I do this, but every now and then I lose what good sense I have and go off to crazyville.

Last time it was the Heavy Hoop. The Heavy Hoop is a 3 lb. “hula” hoop that is supposed to help tone your entire body and provide a cardio workout. When I saw it advertised I thought it looked like fun; after all, I used to be quite the hula hooper. What could be better than a workout that reminds you of your childhood activities? Lots of things, it turns out. The Heavy Hoop was HEAVY, for one thing. Imagine my surprise. After my first swivel I realized having a 3 lb. weight crashing around my waist was not terribly comfortable. In fact, it made me wonder if I was doing internal damage. It DID make me contract the muscles of my stomach to ensure my liver survived the workout. Perhaps, had I stayed with it, I would now have rock hard abs and a slender, toned waistline. Instead, I gave it up, comforting myself with the knowledge that deep down inside, where it really counts…I am a quitter.

After that, I purchased a lovely yoga set with mat, blocks and an instructional video. Have I mentioned my inability to tell left from right when watching a person on TV moving the opposite hand, leg, or direction from me? I was drummed out of dance class at the age of 5 for this. When facing a mirror image, the only directions I am completely certain about are up and down. So basically, yoga was not the relaxing, soul enriching experience I anticipated.

Did I learn my lesson from this? No. Last week I ordered a jump rope. I thought to myself, “Self, when you were younger, you kicked ASS at jump rope.” I envisioned the fantastic workouts I would have, whipping that jump rope into a frenzy. I would tone up, get some cardio and impress my friends with my daring feats of jump rope mastery. What could go wrong?

I’d attended a Happy Hour the evening the rope arrived, so I was feeling a bit more confident than I should. Ignoring the warnings about taking it easy at first so as to determine the level of up-and-down stress my out of shape, post surgical knees can handle, I flicked my wrists and jumped all around the living room. Then I jumped out onto the patio and around the driveway, where I did some doubletime jumping. What I lacked in style I made up for in enthusiasm. Until the next day. That’s when my knees and calves rebelled. When asked about my sloth-like pace that week, I found it difficult to be truthful and say “I’m sore from jumping rope….5 days ago.”

I am determined to try again. This time without the preceding Happy Hour. Ann versus the jump rope begins tonight.

You’ll be the first to know when my commitment/will power/knees give out.