To me, this is an unfortunate name. Getting jumped is a bad thing. Jumping the world? Good chance someone will retaliate. (Or everyone ends up electrocuted, if you are of a more automotive-minded nature.)

That’s not what it means, though. It means to celebrate parkour, that crazy business where you vault over handrails, treat fences like jungle gyms, swing from flagpoles.

It looks like fun, but it sounds exhausting and, personally speaking, like a good way to get hurt.

Instead, I will take my dog out and see how much she remembers of the three minutes of agility training we did last year around this time—hopping through a hoop, crawling through a tunnel, weaving through poles.

She is far more coordinated than I am, and a much more willing participant—especially if treats are involved (although I admit that’s a close race).

We don’t have a teeter totter for her to practice her balance on, but it will be fun to do the rest of it!

And then we will probably come back inside three minute later and watch Colombiana or Brick Mansions or something and marvel at the feats of others.