I almost forgot to post a #FBF post, so this one is coming to you late. It is almost time to dust off the old bike that I have used a total of five times. I can’t wait for the spring-I-am-totally-riding-my-bike-this-year-except-that-is-a-boldface-lie-season. Whoohoo!
While living in Elko, I tried various workout classes and regimens, for no other reason than there was literally nothing else better to do. I did Pilates for nearly two years (yup, this fatty). I took a weights class in the old high school gym. I tried Zumba numerous times, despite being a spastic with no rhythm. I took a Body Pump class and very nearly died. Lastly, I took one kettle bells class, and almost knocked the instructor out cold (whoever thought swinging heavy metal balls between between your legs was a good idea, anyway?). Despite my utter failures with fitness, I wasn’t giving up. I had yet to do spinning.
Spinning had always appealed to me because you get to sit while exercising. Genius. I was pretty excited on my way to my first class. As I drove to the gym, I envisioned myself peddling, glamorously, as my freshly blown out hair gleamed under the spot lights, as it theatrically flowed behind me. My perfectly manicured nails gripped the handlebars in a, I’m-looking-like-I’m-really-holding-on-for-the-effect-but-I-could-totally-let-go-and-not-eat-shit way. I pictured my perfectly contoured face with a light, dewey speckling of perspiration. My bum would be perfect, enviable, transformed from Mom Jean Pancake to Khloe 2.0. It was glorious. I already felt fit.
When I got to the class and joined my friend, my excitement waned. There were some serious hardcore enthusiasts attending the class. Thighs and calves so big, hard, and menacing, they could pop your huge head like a zit, adorned every bike short-clad person in the room. They had special shoes on and they just stood around, flexing their impossibly muscular leg muscles. It seemed a little much. Chill dudes, you’re taking an intro class to spinning, in a building that probably used to be a western wear store, in Elko. This isn’t the big time.
To make myself feel better I decided to pretend they were all fat and sweaty. Thus, I happily climbed scrambled on my bike.
The first 5 minutes were a piece of cake, and I was happily imagining all of my fat just melting off. It was beautiful.
Then, it happened. All you ladies will know what I am talking about. A bike seat is not the most comfortable place to park your lady bits. Yes, my crotch was very unhappy. So unhappy was my crotch that it started to scream profanities at me. I decided to stand to ease the pain. I rode my bike like this for awhile and then my legs started to scream at me. Then, the trainers started to scream at me, “Faster! Don’t stop! Move it fatty!”
I tried to sit, but it was pure agony. No matter what position I put myself in I was in intense, screaming pain. I had to get out. I had to leave, but how?
My mind started reeling with ways that I could bow out without looking like the token fatty, who bit off more than she could chew.
I could say that I had to go to the bathroom and then never come back, but then how would I get my stuff?
I could say that I got an important phone call, and I was needed back at work immediately, but how did I answer my phone while I was grasping the handles for dear life?
I could say that I had a sudden case of appendicitis and that I had to get to the hospital, but the bike nazis would probably just tell me to ride it out.
No, no good.
As my mind was going in circles, my nether regions were in severe distress. I decided that nothing would sound believable. They would all just think to themselves, “The fat chick couldn’t handle the heat.”
So, I stuck it out. I decided that my legs could take the pain with more integrity than my girl parts. So, I “stood” as I rode the rest of the class. Needless to say, it took me 20 minutes to sit down on the toilet for a week, and my legs gave out, the next day, in the middle of an isle in Raley’s, and they had to call for help to get me up.
Spinning is a joke, people. Unless you have a vagina made of steel or you have legs that could rival Arnold’s, I don’t see how you can do it.
If you do decide to try spinning, I would suggest applying Aspercreme to you vagina, and bringing a donut to sit on wouldn’t be a bad idea. Or, just skip the torture and eat a donut.
*This is a post taken from my previous blog, edited and revised, then posted again, for your reading pleasure.