The Dire Consequences of Jumping for Joy

Chuckle #440 | February 9th, 2011
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“Everybody JUMP!” yelled the DJ at my daughter’s Bat Mitzvah last Saturday. So we jumped - forty energetic 13 year olds and forty equally enthusiastic, but slightly less coordinated parents. Then we jumped some more. I’m not sure the grandparents even tried to get off the ground, but then they’re a lot older, and ergo smarter than the rest of us.

The Bat Mitzvah was awesome. The day after? Not so awesome.

My clubbing days are at least 20 years behind me. In fact, I haven’t been “out dancing” since the last family Bat Mitzvah two years ago. That’s long enough for certain muscle groups to have forgotten how unforgiving a three hour dance party can be.

Literary hyperbole it may be, but speaking from experience, muscles really can scream.

At least I had the sense to wear flats to the party. A few of my vertically challenged friends let vanity force them into four inch Jimmy Choos. I’m sure the calf and toe cramps that night were EXCRUCIATING, and many husbands were "lucky" if all they got was an earful. In the words of my sister-in-law (in the massive groovy platforms) “Owww.”

But you can’t opt out of jumping if you’re planning to indulge in a piece of chocolate cake filled with chocolate mousse and covered with chocolate fudge frosting. So I jumped like a lunatic; got “low”; and tried my best to do Cotton Eyed Joe.

Is it me or has line dancing become more challenging? Whatever happened to the bump and the electric slide, or even the Macarena? Those I could DO.

It wasn’t until Sunday morning, in the process of clawing my way out of bed, that I realized that my butt muscles were shot. Unfortunately butt muscles appear to be critical to successful ambulatory movement of any speed, even sauntering or moseying. And they are an absolute must for getting on and off the toilet without a walker.

What this past weekend taught me is that there are definitely some flaws in my exercise routine. Either my social life needs more high impact dance parties, or I need to take up that new thing called Zumba! (Yes! It’s Dance plus Exercise!) And it’s FUN! Or so they say.

With another family Bat Mitzvah coming up in May, I’ve got just three months to prepare my butt for another night of non-stop jumping for joy (and for cake.)

Just in case my butt gives out half way through “Shout”, I have a back-up plan.

Hide behind the grandparents and let them raise the roof.
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