Flashback Friday: Bike Seats and Fannies of Steel

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.

The only kind of bike I ride these days. The seat is like a cloud from heaven.

Author: fattymccupcakes

Just a thirty-something girl trying to love herself the way she is: fat, rolls, cellulite, and fabulousness.

61 thoughts on “Flashback Friday: Bike Seats and Fannies of Steel”

  1. I hate all exercise, it’s very evident on my blog. But I esp. hate spin. And all that it entails. Who the fuck pays someone to do that? I remember learning how to ride a bike recently (I know I know) and my vagina was so sore just from casual laps around the fuckin neighbourhood! No bueno.
    Spin was created my lucifer himself.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. omg this sounds horrible!!! I prefer to exercise at home lol we have a stationary bike there (with a very wide seat which still kills!) or yoga. Once I was doing QDPA with a kindergarten class, the “my bonnie lies over the ocean” song, and could barely walk for a week 😦 It was horrible!!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. LOL! Any bike I get on from here on out better have a seat that’s wide as my ass and ten times as soft. I will get sore when I participate in my students’ brain breaks of yoga or dancing. Usually I don’t participate, because then I can’t teach for 5 minutes due to not being able to breathe #fattyproblems 😂😩

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Hehe!! i usually would just use my thumb to show if they had to go down or up, but then they started just using their thumbs too….so i had to participate…I very much regretted doing the song a 3rd time…

        Liked by 1 person

  3. Bike seats are the worst design. What’s that protruding part supposed to except throttle all gender’s naughty bits and set fire to inner thighs!?! A friend of mine works at a bike store and he says there are seats that are just two firm pillows, one for each cheek, but it not being standard they cost several hundred dollars. Nuts to spinning and biking in general.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Damn! Two soft pillows would be lovely. You make a good point. What IS that thing?! It must be a torture device. I have it on good authority that people who bike incessantly have calluses in places they shouldn’t be. Maybe that’s how they are able to sit on the seat of pain and suffering?!

      Like

  4. Spinning is freaking INSANE. I loves me a leisurely bike ride, and can do 15+ miles for fun. But spinning? Only thing spinning are the contents of my stomach to the floor. And it totally bruises up your delicate lady taco.

    I have a gel seat and have toyed with investing in padded shorts…once I get over the horror of adding extra bulk to my overstuffed trunk junk. Vanity or comfort? WHY IS THIS A QUESTION?

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Oh my goodness you are not alone!!
    I went to a few spinning classes and even bought some shorts that have padding to help protect my vajayjay. the shorts helped a little, but it is still pretty painful. I have lots of friends that love spinning, but I just can’t get my head around why they would want to do something that hurts! Plus if you do get through a class, your legs ache for days.

    Nope. Nope. Nope. I’d rather eat a cupcake and I don’t even like cupcakes that much.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Bicycling requires serious butt callouses. You’ve got to build that shit up over the course of a month and a lot of gradually increasing distances.

    Women don’t come outfitted with the Man Taint O’ Steel, all sealed and bike-ready straight from the factory. The bastards even get to hang their stuff out in front and enjoy cross ventilation while they ride. The rest of us, the ones with two X’s on our chromosome chart, must jam most of our body weight down onto a padded stick they call a “saddle” and grease it with our own regret for the duration of the tour, mercilessly squashing our aching lady bits flat like the world’s most disappointing panini. Bastards.

    Liked by 1 person

  7. This post had me in tears, I was laughing so hard. I can totally see myself doing the same thing. Which unfortunately is why I haven’t signed up for any fitness classes in awhile… quite awhile.

    Liked by 1 person

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