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There's a new fitness trend in town and people are hopping mad for it. Or maybe they're just hopping mad, period. At the gym, it's sometimes hard to tell the difference between fun and frustration.

My first encounter begins when I arrive at Eclipse Fitness in downtown Toronto to meet my running buddies. The plan is to do our usual thing: meet at the gym, go for a run, then return to the gym and stretch.

However, it turns out the regular plan has been changed. My running mates have discovered a new way to work up a sweat, socialize and burn maximum calories in minimum time. They have taken up skipping class.

At first, I jump with joy at the suggestion. Skipping! I love to skip! But isn't it a bit dangerous? First you skip the gym, then you skip work, then you skip paying your taxes . . . next thing you know you're a friendless bum living in a cellar eating cat food.

Then it dawns on me: They mean skipping as in jumping rope. As in recess in Grade 3. As in Under the sun/Over the moon/Around the stars. As in -- gulp -- double dutch.

"It'll be fun!" my gym friends say. "It's easy!"

Maybe for you, I think.

Eclipse group fitness manager Rory Pederzolli first noticed the emphasis on skipping earlier this year while visiting Aerospace, a boxing gym in Manhattan.

"Boxing training has always incorporated a skipping element," he explains, "but the new thing here is the non-stop element. You're staying at a steady pace, there's a hard drive of music to keep you going, and it burns tons and tons of calories. It's not like spinning or aerobics where you increase and decrease your intensity. With skipping you just stay at one [anaerobic] level, which is so beneficial for the body."

Unless, of course, you happen to suck at skipping, which I certainly did in my playground days. In that case, a fun, light workout turns into a high-intensity exercise in frustration.

Still, I start out the skip class feeling pretty smug. So I never quite mastered skipping as a kid; that's because I was an unco-ordinated bookworm. Now that I'm a secure, mature adult who works out regularly, it shouldn't be a problem.

Mabel, Mabel -- bring it on.

The class begins. The instructor, Lhara, is a fit-looking redhead with an easy smile. She begins bunny-hopping with the rope, instructing the class to use "just tiny movements with your wrists." Within two minutes, everyone has caught on. They are smiling and skipping along to the music, switching nimbly from one foot to the other like Muhammad Ali training for the Rumble in the Jungle. I, on the other hand, am soaked in sweat and tangled in a plastic rope.

Even though I'm a grownup, it turns out, skipping is a challenge. But who can argue with the stats? According to Pederzolli, skipping increases muscle strength and cardiovascular health. Plus, it's weight-bearing, which increases bone mass (good for warding off osteoporosis). It also burns more calories than any other exercise class -- anywhere from 500 to 800 in 30 minutes, Pederzolli says.

He also points out that while skipping can be frustrating for the unco-ordinated, it's good for mental focus. "It's like rubbing your tummy and patting your head."

Right. While all the other (exclusively female) participants try out their crossovers, twists and double-time jumps, I untangle myself, determined not to whip my skipping rope across the room in frustration (as one male participant reportedly did at a recent class). At one point, Lhara comes over and advises me "not to use so much energy with great big circles." I try to imitate the light, bouncy effortless-looking motion of the rest of the group, but all I can seem to effect is a lurching series of thuds, as both my feet lift off and meet the ground in an awkward, simultaneous non-rhythm.

The class sidesteps across the room with their skipping ropes while I struggle not to strangle myself in the corner. Lhara gently tells me not to worry about the other stuff: "Just concentrate on skipping."

Soon, I discover another impediment to skipping as an adult female: boobs. Seriously sporty undergarments are definitely in order if you want to avoid a pair of black eyes. No wonder so many of us traded in our jump ropes for training bras.

The class progresses and eventually things get better. I don't look cute like everyone else, but I'm not tripping up as often. As the Madonna remix blares, I am just about to get in a groove when I feel a sharp smack of rubber against my butt and a tangle at my feet. Suddenly it's Grade 3 all over again and I have been relegated to rope turner for the rest of lunch hour while the Macklin twins do double-dutch handsprings through the fluorescent ropes.

But then I remember something else: 1,000 calories burned an hour.

I resolve to finish my skipping session -- pre-adolescent flashbacks be damned.

Bluebells, cockle shells, eevy ivy OVER. Finally!

lmclaren@globeandmail.com