Wednesday, October 12, 2011

you spin my head right round

Yesterday I suffered through took my very first spin class.
Tony was there too, but he has done it before, so his pain < mine.
We arrived at class early to check out the class before us. 
I see a blonde, female instructor who plays a techno version of Adele's "Set Fire to the Rain". Perfect.
This might possibly be fun.

But no. She will not be our instructor. Life isn't that kind.

We grab two bikes in the back (obviously) and wait anxiously to see who our instructor will be.
In walks a man who is about 8 feet tall and 500 pounds of pure, steroid-lovin' muscle. With a headband.

Tony and I look at each other and with our amazing telepathy, both say "Oh f*ck."

We were in for it big time.
Oh, and by the by, this spin class, come to find out, was the advanced class (who knew?) and was held on an Army post if that gives you an idea of the kind of people who attend.

I've always heard that spin class is no joke, but there are three big things that no one mentioned to little ol' me.

1. Your instructor will almost always be a sadistic cousin of Satan mixed with Jillian Michaels.

2. Chances are, there will be at least one Lance Armstrong in the class and he/she will conveniently sit right in front of you, so that their sweat of glory whips backwards and hits you. For reals. Nasty.
And my particular Lance Armstrong was this happy about being in class. I just don't get it.

3. The hard as a rock seat (or saddle as I learned last night...) will act like a meat cleaver to your lady parts.

When I told this to my loving husband, who happened to be the one who adjusted my bike, he said that it shouldn't have felt like that. "Your bike adjustments must have been wrong." Thanks a heap, Coyote Ugly.

So I guess #3 might just be saved for yours truly.
Anyone else?

And I hope any exercise addicted readers are not offended. More power to ya. I would just rather sit on the couch and watch Bravo, that's all.

Tony thinks we're going again tomorrow. Haha. As if.

xoxo Meg

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