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As I mentioned before, my personal trainer administered a body fat percentage test. I was going to keep the results shrouded under the veil of shame and discretion, but I have no dignity, and besides, revealing my number will help me prove a point.

For background, you should know that my BMI (Body Mass Index) is in the normal range. Sure, it's on the high end of normal, separated from the overweight range by a few measly decimal points, but the important part is that it is separated.

Now, I know that BMI doesn't take frame size into account, and isn't perfectly accurate for shorter women like myself. Truthfully, I would like to lose almost 20 pounds. But my jaw literally dropped when I discovered that my body fat percentage, a whopping 34, falls into the "OBESE" category. OBESE, people. O-B-E-S-E.

I wear a size 10, for God's sake. So what this test underscored for me is that none of the numbers we use to measure and define ourselves, whether BMI, weight, size or body fat percentage, tell the whole story on their own.

Click here to read more about jump-roping and to see the surprising shape of a size 10 today.

For instance:

Each of the above women is a size 10. The number, by itself, is about as useful as I would be on a football team. I am not obese, but neither do I truly warrant placement in the "ideal weight" category. I find that a far more effective way to gauge the state of your body is by how it feels -- more specifically how it feels when you are, say, jumping rope.

I don't like to brag, but when I was young, I was something of a jump-rope prodigy. This was long ago, and back then, the favorite activities of the girls on my block were playing jacks (LOOK IT UP, KIDS) and holding vicious double-dutch competitions.

In elementary school phys. ed., we had a whole jump-rope unit, and once a traveling troupe of jumpers -- sort of the Harlem Globetrotters of jump rope -- came to perform for us at an assembly.

I had many career ambitions back in the day, but the only one that involved actual physical activity (unless you count "spy," which I would assume entails quite a bit of running), was "professional jump roper."

After my last personal training session, I found myself in one of the gym's fitness rooms, and I spied a bunch of jump ropes hanging on the wall. It had been years since I'd used one, contenting myself with Jillian Michaels' ropeless jumping exercises. Barely containing my glee, I snatched one up and whirled it around as I sprang into the air.

I landed with a thud. And another one. And while I kept going, everything about jumping rope felt different than I remembered, and not in a good way. I felt heavy and awkward; the floor seemed to shudder with every footfall. Gravity had never seemed quite so ... powerful. I was panting. For some reason, the image of the tutu-wearing hippos from "Fantasia" kept popping unpleasantly into my head.

So this is my goal, and how I will measure my progress. Numbers are ambiguous and misleading, but a jump rope doesn't lie. When I can jump rope and feel some amount of the springy, joyful ease I used to feel bouncing along on the sidewalk outside my house, I'll know my body has changed for the better.

(However, just to be clear, I am pretty sure my double-dutch days are over).

Alexa Stevenson tries out various exercise techniques and documents them every other week on Lemondrop.