Whenever I jump on a trampoline (once a year or so), I rediscover that I can do most of the tricks I used to be able to perform, but that my body is no longer filled with helium, like it was when I was a kid. Also, I start panting after ten bounces and I can't afford to concentrate on grace, because the majority of my attention is spent on execution.
Naturally, I'm relieved when I confirm I can still fling myself around without too much difficulty or fear. (Anyway, I tend to worry more about my body eventually refusing to cooperate out of stubborn oldness, than I do about breaking my neck.)
Yesterday I had the rare opportunity to jump on a friendly stranger's trampoline, in a suburb of Albany. Here's a little movie of it.
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FROM THE ARCHIVES:  
People We Like. I've got a new photo in The Morning News: the co-owners of Frank White, an unusual coffee shop in my neighborhood. — 07.17.08 Charles Atlas will make a man of you! "Against Atlas' better judgment, I declined performing all of my exercises in the nude." (accompanying shirtless photo of the author taken by me.) — 07.17.08 Cat on a Leash. I am totally buying a leash for Coleman asap. — 06.25.08 The Brooklynites. Great photos of a wide range of people from my favorite borough. (Thanks to Kurt [a talented photographer himself] for passing this on.) — 12.19.07 Killer Boob. My childhood (and current!) friend Sarah talks about her experience with breast cancer on her well written and charming blog. She's an American living in Belgium and happens to be one of the best people I know. — 12.19.07 |
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