2007
After dinner in Lake Village, I carry out the giant rope to the blacktop right in front of the picnic tables. We turn the rope and the slack hits the pavement in rhythm. The spinning rope catches the eye of jumpers. The Warriors and Pathfinders leave the four-square court, tetherball, and their seats on the flagpole bench to come join us.
Charlie and Matt run inside to grab two blue chairs from the dining hall. We practiced extreme jump-roping before lunch today and want to try it again. With the rope lying dead on the ground, the boys take a seat in the center and hold onto their chair. Sarah Roberts and I begin to swing the rope again and they jump while sitting on the chair. They get high enough to clear the rope and everyone watching cheers. When the chairs land, tiny sparks shoot out from the bottom of each chair leg. A few minutes later, the bell rings to signal the end of trading post time. We have to split up for the Man Hike and Woman's Journey. All of the boys rush off to chant, conquer mountains, and do other manly things. We delay the start of the Journey so we can keep jumping.
"Everybody make one long line," Sarah Roberts tell the girls that still want to jump. "We're going to try to set the record for continuous jumps. You have to run in right after the person in front of you so that there is a new person in each turn of the rope." This group of Pathfinder girls has been jumping before lunch all week and they really want to set a new record. Molly, Lizzie, Mary, Jackie, Amber, Nora, Ana, Ellie, Kendall, Margaret, Livvie, Lizza, Julia, and the rest of the girls line up, ready to jump.
Everyone shouts out the number together, "1...2...3...4..." The lines cycles around to jump again but their eyes stay on the rope, praying that it'll keep spinning. When someone trips up everyone's immediate response is to groan in frustration but they quickly bounce back, "It's ok. We got this. Don't worry about it." We try again and again, we've got to do this.
All of a sudden we're past 75 and our voices get louder as we count together, "89...90..." The girls run to around to get back in line to jump again, we've broken 100. Everyone's face is stretched with a smile and more girls are coming to watch, "198... 199... 200!" and we keep jumping. We're in a rhythm now, "265...266...267..." like we've been jumping our whole lives. "Keep going girls! You're doing awesome," Sarah Roberts cheers. "301...302..." this is the highest we've gotten all summer.
"324...325...326...." The rope gets caught on Allison's toe as she runs out of the rope. Everyone is quiet for a second. Our jumping streak is over. But then everyone is giving each other high-5s and telling one another, "Good job- that was awesome." No one is mad at Allison but focusing on our new record. 325.
At camp we celebrate when people do well. We have a culture that focuses on the positive side of everything. It didn't matter that Allison messed up the rope because we were more excited about our new record. It is a comforting feeling to know that no matter what, you are going to be included and supported by your friends. That's one of the things we want campers to take home with them.
We line up, each holding onto the jump rope and take a picture of the record setters. I wind up the rope in a giant loop and tie a knot so it will stay together. It will wait in the cabinet room until we jump again tomorrow.
...
2008
"Hey CILTS!" Eric yelled over the Longhouse porch. The 30 campers turn to face him and yell back, "Hey what?" Done with planning mini-clinics, the night is still young and everyone is anxious to move on to the next activity. "For the next hour we're going to have free time but you've got to stick around here. You can hang out on the porch, play ga-ga or there is a group that wants to try to break the jump-rope record."
The kids disperse, a few staying to talk on the porch with their giant bags of Swedish Fish and Achan's chest of Cheez-its. A large group, led by Molly and Sam, heads to the empty parking lot to jump. Many of the girls were a part of the group that set the Camp Tecumseh record the summer before and they want to raise the bar so it will be even harder to break.
Sarah Funk, aka Funkshow, and Hannah take the ends of the white rope and begin to turn it as everyone else lines up. Two turners, nineteen jumpers. Everyone listens for the familiar, "whack, whack, whack," as it hits the pavement with each turn. Heads nod to the beat and the Jackie runs in, "1" followed by JP, "2" and Mary, "3" and on and on as each CILT takes their turn. Becca is nervous and Amber forces her to go each time. "You can do this," we tell her. Her hands in nervous fists by her sides, she darts in, jumps and clears the rope.
We quickly break 100, but keep getting stuck before we reach 200. Sam may be one of the smallest guys in the group but he has become a leader among his peers, "I know you guys can do this. I believe in you," he tells them and gives high-5s down the line.
Our eyes stayed glued on the rope while we snake through the line, awaiting our turn. "176... 177... 178..." we're on a good run. Funkshow and Hannah swing the rope extra wide to help us not miss, "197... 198... 199..." And just like that, we've passed 200. Everyone starts screaming the numbers together, "212... 213..." and our excitement gets the best of us, "216..." The rope gets caught on someone's foot and we have to begin at 0 again.
The sun is sinking low behind the Lodge and the lights in the parking lot have turned on. Fireflies are beginning to light up Main Field and Molly's green shirt is glowing neon in the night. "We have fifteen more minutes till we have to end. There's only time for a few more tries," I tell them. We probably won't break 325 with so little time left but just trying is the high of my day.
The next few tries only reach embarassing highs of 24 and 32. We can't end like that. Everyone takes a collective deep breath. In no time we're at, "117... 118..." and everyone is in the zone, focused. "225... 226... 227... 228... 229..." we know this is our last chance tonight.
Eric claps his hands and yells, "Let's go," as the group reaches, "356... 357..." We've passed the old record. My hands are shaking, "389..." because we're all feeling the adrenaline of reaching this point. "What if we get to 500?" someone asks. I hear someone else chime in, "What if we get to 1,000?" It's my turn to run through the rope again and I yell my number, "427..." When you come through the rope you sprint to get back in line, ready to go again.
CILTs that had been hanging out on the porch have found their way over to us now, curious about our increased volume of counting. "507... 508... 509..." we yell together. We cycle through, Sam then Molly then Kayla then Eric then Chrissy then Kelly and we keep counting, "531... 532... 533... 534..." and Zach runs in to the arc next. His foot catches the rope as he begins to jump. The counting is replaced by a collective groan. It's over. Then someone yells, "534!" and everyone joins in the celebration.
We're smiling and high-5ing like we've just won the National Championship of Jump Roping. Molly's blonde side ponytail is swinging and she keeps saying, "This is the best night at camp I've ever had."
...
2010
The retired climbing rope is wound into a giant mess of knots and loops. I drop it on the pavement in the middle of all the CILTs. We just decided to spend this last Thursday morning working on jump roping rather than going on a mud hike. Accomplishing this would check "beat the 534 jump rope record" off of their Bucket List. Beef has their attention, "Team, we can do this. I'm fired up. Let's get lined up, one long line here. Who thinks they could do a good job being turners for us?" Two CILTs step up and start to untangle the rope as the rest of us get into one long line. 42 people with tennis shoes tied tight, ready to jump.
The broken Annies, recovering from ACL surgery and a broken foot, stand on the flagpole bench out of the way but close enough to be a strong cheering force.
The enthusiasm is high as we begin and everyone shouts out the number together, "42... 43... 44... 45..." until someone stays a bit too long inside the arc of the rope. We clap and say, "It's ok, next time we'll get. We've got this guys," because we're all keeping up this positive attitude.
We attempt the record ten, twenty, thirty times without making much progress. People start to ask for water breaks. It's middle-of-July-humidity-above-100 kind of hot. Our energy is wavering. We've stopped yelling out the numbers and only the Annies are still cheering us on with every try.
The bell rings and the rest of the counselors and campers transition to their second period clinic. We've been at this for over an hour. The boys have taken off their sweaty and shirts and the girls have to continually re-do their ponytails.
Everyone has their own piece of advice they're sure will make the difference between failure and success.
"Jump right in the middle of the rope, we'll mark it with this rock."
"We're messing up because you're not jumping high enough. You've got to bend your knees and jump higher."
"It's the rhythm. You've got to be ready to go in guys. Stand up close to the person in front of you so you can follow them in. You can't wait, you've just got to go in." People take breaks to go to the bathroom or sit on the bench while the rest of us keep jumping. The bell rings to signal the end of the second clinic. We say hi to the Brave and Blazer campers we recognize as they walk past. Some of them pause to watch, hoping they'll witness the new record but they move on as soon as someone trips up the rope.
Beef claps his hands to get everyone's attention and walks to the middle of our circle. I stand with my hands on my hips ready for a pump-up speech from our coach--time is dwindling and if we're going to make this we need a new mindset. He told us this story, "There was an old man, dripping with sweat, who worked over a large boulder, striking blow after blow against the immovable object. The massive rock was in pristine condition, with no cracks or dents in it at all. If the old man walked away, nobody would have any idea that his day had been spent in hard labor beating his old sledge against the stubborn stone. As the end of the day neared a few people began to stand and watch the old man--his expression never changed, and every rhythmic strike was backed with his full effort. His hands were blistered and his eyes stung with sweat and his lungs burned with exertion, but the old man pounded the rock with his sledge relentlessly."
"Late in the evening, after most of the townspeople were done with dinner and relaxing at home, the old man brought down a final blow and the big rock crumbled into manageable chunks. A late evening walker stopped and was amazed at the old man. "How did you summon the strength to break that huge boulder with just one blow?" The old man wiped the sweat from his brow and replied, "It wasn't that blow that broke the rock, but the thousand blows before it."
If we're going to break this record we have to continually keep pounding this record of 534, and eventually the one final blow will smash it to pieces.
Everyone came together in a Team CILT huddle and stacked up their hands like a human tower of Jenga. "Team on 3," Beef boomed. "1, 2, 3, TEAM!" We were ready to make the final whack that would break the rock and break this record. "Ready, set, go" the rope turners yell and they swing the rope up and over as Tina runs in for the first jump. "One! Two! Three!" everyone yells together. We mess up and have to start over but it's okay, we're going to make this happen.
The bell rings for lunch but we keep jumping as everyone files in. We've got this, "356... 357... 358... 359..." It didn't happen. We spent the entire morning trying, three long hours, and it didn't happen.
We pick up our discarded sweatshirts, water bottles, and backpacks and then file up the ramp to the dining hall. It's time to sing Johnny Appleseed and go in the indoor to get the red tray of sloppy joe's. It feels like such a let down, we really thought we were going to make it happen.
"We'll wake up at 6am tomorrow, anyone that wants to keep trying," we brainstorm at lunch. "All the serious jumpers will wake up. Then we'll have a good hour and a half before flagpole to break 534." Everyone at our table nodded, we wouldn't give up yet. "Tomorrow's Friday, it doesn't matter if we're tired all day, it'll be worth it to wake up that early. Anyone who wants to keep jumping will be able to break the record."
The CILT girls fall into their beds when it's time for rest hour, exhausted from the morning calisthenics and heat. We're thankful for the air-conditioning and our squeaky bunk beds in the Longhouse. But on the other side of the Main Loop the CILT boys couldn't rest inside the Yurt. They sat on the edges of their bunks for only a few minutes before they decided that they would continue to jump during rest hour and try to break the record on their own.
"They're doing it! The boys are breaking the record! You've got to come watch this," someone shouted into the cabin. Our alarm had woken us up five minutes ago and the girls were changing into their swimsuits, getting ready to go with their adopted cabins. I grabbed my camera, stepped into my sandals and ran out the door to see this. I couldn't believe it, they were jumping without us?
There was a crowd of campers and counselors blocking the action on the road beside the Yurt but I could hear them shouting out the numbers, "753... 754... 755..." I slid in between a crowd of Brave girls and took a seat on the wooden steps of the old cabin. They had already broken the record and were still going strong.
While two boys turned the rope, the other eleven formed a tight circle that rotated through the spinning rope. They were in constant motion, no time to rest between jumps, because there were so few jumpers. "811... 812... 813..." I took video of the CILT guys jumping, astounded that suddenly it all seemed so easy. 534 was a distant memory now, they could actually get to 1,000.
The boys had thrown their shirts to the side. These 16-year-olds were dripping with sweat like they had just gone for a swim in the pool. They used the back of their hand to wipe their foreheads before the salt stung their eyes. "879... 880... 881..." The jumping continued and eventually cabins had to leave so they wouldn't be late for their mud hikes and trail rides. They'd been going continuously with no mistakes for over 45 minutes by now. "945... 955... 956..." The remaining spectators were getting louder as they shouted out the numbers, "978... 979... 980..." But the jump rope team reminded each other to stay calm, "We've got to focus. Smart jumps. 20 more." It was teamwork like I had never seen before. Each one of them accountable not only for their own jumps, but also for the greater goal of the group. All of them were in this, completely committed.
I held my breath, nervous for them, excited that they were going to make Camp Tecumseh history. The boys rotated through the rope again, "997... 998... 999... 1000!" The crowd screamed and the boys kept jumping through the rope with each turn, "1,001... 1,002..." They'd met the mark but no one wanted to be the one to stop the rope. There had been no discussion about what happens when you break 1,000 consecutive jumps. The figurative block of rock had been smashed to smithereens and they were still hammering away.
The crowd dissipated, talking about the record as they walked away to their dodge ball game and rope swing time, and the CILT guys kept jumping one after another. "1,016... 1,017..." and then it happened, "1,018... 1,019..." On his turn Beef stopped in the middle of the rope and let it stop turning on his back. 1,019. He had finished it. The boys crowded together is a mess of high-5s and hugs and sweat and celebration. After working all day and so many attempts they made it happen. When we keep our eye on the goal and continue to try even when the odds seem so great that incredible things are achieved.
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