I took my girls to Get Air trampoline park in Williston during February break.
I recommend it as a day trip if you need new ideas (which, of course you do). Get Air is clean, well-supervised, and a heck of a workout. You can pre-buy your tickets and sign their waiver ahead of time (places like this won’t let you jump without one, I once found out the hard way).
Picture a wall-to-wall grid pattern of trampolines. They even have vertical ones climbing the walls, presumably so you can fling yourself at them face-first and see what happens.
I decided to win some fun mom points and jump with my kids. The girls, seemingly excited for me to get in there with them, fast abandoned me as soon as our one-hour jumping slot began.
Trampolines are scary if you are not often airborne. If you perhaps weighed 20 pounds less the last time you did this kind of thing. If your most physically strenuous time of day is your scramble to get dinner on the table before your children stage a hunger-fueled rebellion.
Even with soft landings stretched out around me, my sensible-adult brain said, “You will hurt yourself and you will not recover quickly.”
So I baby-hopped from square to square, waving to the girls as they tore through the place. They soon came bounding across the floor and said, “Come jump in the foam pit with us!”
The facility has three foam pits into which you can launch yourself from a trampoline. This seemed perfect. Soft, fun, and did I mention soft.
The girls went first. They bounced twice, tucked their chins and flipped neatly head-over-heels into the pit like they do this every day. “Your turn, Mom!” they yelled.
I wasn’t even going for a flip. I just wanted to land well and not look dumb in front of the staff member supervising the foam pit activity. I bounced high* once, twice, three times, windmilling my arms like an albatross. Each time I went into the air I thought I can do this. I can do this.
On the third bounce, I said to myself, “jump!” just as my sensible-adult brain said, “you cannot do this.” I panicked and crumpled into the pit from the great height of literally standing on my feet.
I sat there splayed in the blocks for a minute, contemplating the idea of never getting out.
Did the staff guy see that? I checked. Of course he did, because that’s his job. My older daughter stood over me looking at me like, how could you possibly have screwed that up? My younger child stood a few feet away, with the video camera still rolling.
HOWEVER. I rallied.
Now that I’d faceplanted, the jumping didn’t seem scary. I took five minutes to practice-bounce with the girls, and returned to execute two impressive** flying leaps into the foam pit.
As we were leaving – thirsty, drenched in sweat, our sides aching from laughing – I noted all the adults sitting on the side, looking down at their phones. I’ve opted for that plenty of times. But today, maybe a bit hyped up on adrenaline, I wanted to shake them and yell, “You should do this! Try the foam pit!”
Because I'm the worst at it, and I still had fun.
* Not high at all. I saw the video.
** To no one but me.