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Debbie Ridpath Ohi reads, writes and illustrates for young people. Every few weeks, she shares new art, writing and resources; subscribe below. Browse the archives here.

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urban rebounding

Went to my first Urban Rebounding class at my health club early this morning. I was the only first-timer, so the instructor took a few minutes to show me the basic moves, which consisted mainly of jumping on a small trampoline in time to music. Sounded pretty straightforward.

"Hey, this is fun," I thought at the beginning of the class, bouncing around enthuasiastically on my personal trampoline. I want a trampoline at home!

About 10 minutes into the class: "Hey, I'm starting to get pretty tired". It took real focus to make sure I didn't bounce off the trampoline, and there was no break to catch one's breath.

20 minutes later: "Hey, I think I'm going to throw up!"

I wanted to stop, but the thought of being the only one to give up kept me going. Ah, the joys of self-imposed peer pressure. The others were probably feeling the same way. At least, that's what I kept telling myself.

Finally, we were allowed to stop bouncing. Woohoo! The instructor congratulated me on getting through it. "I can't believe it's your first Urban Rebounding class!" She probably meant she was surprised that I didn't throw up, like most first-timers.

But then came weights and abdominal exercises. Weights were ok (though my arms are still a bit wobbly as I type this), but the abstuff finished me off. I lay there, quivering like a jellyfish, while the others dutifully went thru various tortuous crunches. "COME ON, YOU CAN DO IT!" the instructor yelled through her microphone, obviously meaning me. I would give a few half-hearted twitches and then collapse into jellyfish mode again.

Why, after all that suffering, am I drawn to attending this class again? It must be something in the Philadelphia water.

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