Spinning Out of Control

I took my first Spin class last night. My husband's boss won a free class for up to twenty people and she asked us to go along. Now, I'm not a novice. I know what a spin class is despite never attending one. I was not looking forward to it by any means but, hey, can't lose weight if you don't exercise. I strapped on my still new sneakers, slid on the maxi-pants all bikers wear and we headed off to the studio.

We were the first to arrive. The building is small and reminds me of a half-completed construction warehouse. There is music dully thumping from behind a closed door and no one in sight. When we approach the counter, a boy as skinny as a rail and all of 14 asks us to fill out this form. It is your typical "We can not be held responsible for your bodily harm, injury, or death," form. Great, what have I gotten myself involved in if I have to sign away my own death? I was feeling a bit apprehensive.

Then the others showed up. These people all ride on a regular and sometimes maniacal basis. I knew most of them on a "Hey, how you doing?" basis. NOT on the kind of level where I am comfortable seeing all the men, and I mean ALL of the men, hanging out (pun intended) in their bike shorts. One boy, whom I have never met before, takes off his clothes right in front of me. I didn't know where the hell to put my eyes. I'm not prude, but it's not polite to stare at someone's penis when you first meet them. The class couldn't start soon enough.

Then the perky instructor showed up. With a salad. Her name was Nicole and she had just completed another class at a different facility. Now she was munching away and getting ready to instruct us. I hated her on sight.

Finally, the door opens and a brothel of big, sweaty, red-faced people pour out. These are not the kind of men and women you see everyday. Usually, they are in a ring with colorful tights throwing each other around. If they are huffing and puffing, I don't stand a chance in hell. I quickly ran through every contagious disease I knew and tried to pick one the others would believe. Can't ride with you if I have malaria, right?

Too late. We entered the small room full of bikes and talk... about... funk! Nicole asked if she could open the two bay doors and met no resistance whatsoever. She checked everyone in the room and made sure our seats were at the right position, our handlebars, and the pedals were all correct. I found myself sitting behind mostly everyone. Ass as far as the eye could see.
My husband took a bike on the other side of the room.

Perky Nicole started the class and I started peddling. The little knob in front of us was our "gear shift". We could add or subtract as much resistance as we wanted. I turned mine all the way down to no resistance whatsoever. Hey, this wasn't so bad. We peddled fast. We peddled slow. We stood up. We sat down. Man, this really was a great work out. Then the bitch says, "Ok, that's all for the warm up."

She proceeded to torture and abuse our bodies in every way imaginable for the next hour. Each and every time I was sure my heart would explode, she'd say "Go up a gear." Are you kidding me? I lost feeling in my legs twenty minutes ago. The only thing that wasn't numb was my ass. The mattress in my bike pants wasn't enough at all, and the fact that it was slowly becoming a thong didn't help matters, either. I would have gotten off, but my feet were caged in. Oh, she was clever. I began to get sweaty and the open bay doors were the only thing keeping me conscious.

Images of Nicole roasting over the open fires in hell were the only thing keeping me going. Finally we reached the end and did some stretches. I was so happy. Then I got off the bike and my legs damn near buckled. My knees were on strike. Walking away was like wading through jelly. People talked, but I could only hear the rapid hammering of my heart. My face was red. Somehow we made it to the car and finally to bed. The only other person who had it rougher than me was my husband. He almost puked.

I'll stick to real cycling, thanks. It's a lot less strenuous and has a much better view.