Jumping Jacks

My run today went through a perfect end-of-summer day: warm, motionless, and bright. Even the water of Rock Creek appeared clear and still, and the poor fish swimming in their sewage-enhanced river content.

I had accustomed myself to dreading the end of summer and lightless winter days, flinching as it became colder and darker. I do not admire discontent, and so have fought this emotion hard, last year and this. So far this year I have been more successful. Finally figuring out the right clothes for winter biking has helped—a careful miscellany of little boys’ hunting clothes from Walmart and super-de-dooper mittens from REI.

The other trail users today—runners, bikers, and a half-naked man pushing a backpack in a small baby stroller—also seemed to share my happy passivity.

Except for two bizarre gentlemen on bikes, who three times passed me with inefficient flurry, stopped, threw their bikes on the ground, and started doing jumping jacks.

I did not know that people still did jumping jacks. The last time I have been in the presence of jumping jacks was when I was given a coverage of 6th grade boys gym. As a petite 22 year old woman in 4 inch heels, I anticipated this coverage with a certain amount of dread. However, I took it on the authority of my own male students that the gym teacher always made them do “exercises” before starting “class”. The exercises consisted of 30 jumping jacks, 30 crunches, and 10 push ups. So the last time I have come in contact with a jumping jack was leading 60, 11 – 15 year old boys through them.

I was very exacting about jumping jack execution. I got through fully half of that coverage simply by inventing, and requiring my class to meet, a completely fictitious concept of The Ideal Jumping Jack.