It takes me less than five minutes to soak through the front of my T-shirt, but I can't stop. With my hair clumped together and plastered to my forehead, I jump, jump, jump, bounce, roll, drop, fall, jump, jump. Sometimes I bound straight up and down ten or twelve times in a row to see how high I can get; other times I power-jump from one square section to another and launch myself into the wall, springing back onto my ass, then popping up onto my feet. All around me, my five friends do back flips and somersaults, splay out in complete exhaustion, heave with fatigue. But even when my chest feels like it can take no more and my heart beats with furious contempt, I don't stop.
We're at Jump-Street, a 30,000-square-foot family facility in Thornton that resembles a Discovery Zone, only with trampolines instead of tube mazes, blocks and slides. We spend the bulk of our time in the 7,000-square-foot general jumping area, which features more than fifty trampolines connected in a grid and separated by two to three inches of blue and yellow padding. Even the walls are trampolines set at 45-degree angles. The two dodgeball area are netted-off spaces with color-coded halves and dozens of squishy, brightly colored balls. We lethargically separate into teams of three and quickly learn how drainingly difficult it is to throw a ball accurately while bouncing three feet off the ground. It's been less than thirty minutes, and were just plain spent.