When I was a much younger lad growing up in the rolling hills of Fordwich, a trampoline was a relatively rare apparatus.
I believe by the age of 10 or so – prime trampolining age – the group of friends I ran with only had one or two semi-regular jumping sources to access. And for whatever reason, they weren’t always set up or readily available. So when you had the opportunity to take a rip on a trampoline, you didn’t pass it by unless there was a significant emergency preventing you from going. The imminent threat of a nuclear attack, for example. That’s… pretty much it.
And the trampolines of yore look very different to the ones found on it seems virtually every other lawn here in the modern day. Well, I suppose they didn’t look all that different in the grand scheme of things, but the way we approached them certainly did.
First off, there were zero safety considerations 25-plus years ago. There were no safety nets surrounding the thing; even the safety padding covering the springs were extremely rare in the mid-1990s. You didn’t give it much thought at the time, but a wayward jump onto the outside spring perimeter always cost you some leg skin/hair when your vertical motion abruptly came to a halt, one appendage splitting two springs as you raised your head skyward and cursed the trampoline gods with a painful howl. This was followed by hoisting yourself out, taking a solid eight seconds to collect yourself, and then immediately resuming the jump because the timeframe was short and dinner was at 6 p.m. sharp.
Also, there were no weight or jumping method considerations. The more kids on the thing, the better really. If you were able to pull off a flip or the crème de la crème – a blackflip – you were quickly considered a trampoline legend and would always receive an invite to jump because others wanted to see you do it. Or better yet, not do it. Spills or fails were always hot commodities in our group; I suppose it just made you appreciate your own injury-free self that much more.
Given the header on my piece this week, I’m sure you can guess where I’m going with this. There is no such thing as an ‘injury-free self’ when it comes to being in your extremely-late thirties and trampolines. We surprised our kids with one this past Easter, and after frantic initial jumping sessions at every spare opportunity for them, the thing went largely unnoticed for a good chunk of the summer. Typical, I know. Just one more gigantic obstacle to shimmy around the backyard when you’re trying to cut the grass.
Our trampoline has experienced a renaissance in the last couple weeks, with Finn, Piper and usually a bunch of neighbour kids all crowding on to it for some joyous jumping. I have been on it maybe four times since we got it. One time too many evidently.
Mind you, I’m probably playing this up a little too much, it wasn’t a significant injury. But it was a very self-induced one. My kids and I were having a jump after supper last Thursday evening, and all I did was (what used to be) a simple maneuver where you jump high in the air, bounce on the canvass on your back, and land back on your feet. But when you have a spine shaped like a question mark, nothing is simple on a trampoline. Said questioning spine no doubt asked me in the air as I was coming down, are you sure you want to do this?
The short answer is no, and the result was subtle and slow in onset. I knew I had immediately ‘buggered something up’ as my old man is fond of saying. In truth, it felt like my left hip had become dislocated from my lower back. I could barely walk by bedtime, but in the morning it was miraculously gone.
I’m glad that Finn talked me out of doing a flip shortly before that incident, after I had wondered aloud if I could still pull one off. Ever the Cautious Carl, he was quick to inform me that mom told him that the trampoline instructions said flips were strictly prohibited. Smart instructions. The last time I had attempted a flip was a couple years before on a friend’s trampoline, and I put my neck out for a week. Slow learner, or what?
So given my recent track record of trampolining – what was it, two injuries out of the last five jumps? – I have decided to stay clear of the thing altogether to stay on the safe side. A 40 per cent injury rate is a fairly poor statistic. Unless someone double-dog dares me to try a flip, of course. By the unwritten laws of universal trampolining, I have to accept or therefore be branded a chicken thereafter.
Besides, I have a 60 per cent chance of sticking the landing. And there’s a safety net to boot.
***
This is a bi-weekly opinion column; for question or comment contact Dan McNee at dmcnee@midwesternnewspapers.com.
