Spinning Out of Control

1.) Tell the story of trying to learn a new talent or hobby that you only pursued briefly. (inspired by writingfix.com) - One of MamaKat's writing prompts...

I have always wanted to try a spinning class. My interest was piqued on a trip to Chicago. While wandering through the city I spied a spinning class through large windows. Those people looked intense and purpose-driven. I thought that seemed alright.

It seemed that I overheard people everywhere talking about their spinning classes and how great they were and how they were in the best shape of their lives. "Yes!" I felt myself thinking, "That is what I want!"

I did want that. I wanted that feeling of euphoria that only sweating a lot can produce. I wanted the sculpted booty and perky walk. I wanted to be able to chug water after class while swapping stories of the burn I felt during class with my fellow spinners.

I am the type of person, though, who must mull things over. If I go shopping I never buy spontaneously, I always go home and mull it over.  Mull it over for years, in fact. I am this way with everything, which may be to my detriment.

I made the mistake of mentioning my spinning desire to a very young friend of mine. Lindsey was 17. She thought it sounded like fun.  The only class we found that worked with our schedules was at 5 a.m. Still, I just kept the Nike motto of  "Just Do It" running through my mind. I slept in my work out clothes to make things easier and headed out the door at 4:40 a.m.  I felt like I was sneaking out on a special mission minus the black face paint.

I got worried when we arrived 5 minutes early and still appeared to be late. Someone noticed Lindsey and I standing in the corner of the room.  All 15 class members kindly  rushed to help us get bikes and figure out what to do. There were no more pads for the seats left and I joked that I didn't need any padding because I had plenty of extra on my own seat. What an idiot I was. Before I knew it I was sitting on a bike and someone was buckling my feet in. The instructor was a petite woman who was definitely over the age of 65 but who had more energy than I had ever had in my entire life. She had us get off of our bikes and do some stretches. So far, so good.

Then we climbed on and the music started spinning. I was doing it! I was a spinner!  I felt like I was in a commercial. Then the instructor told us to change some dial to make it seem like we were going uphill.  Then she told us to stand up. Just when I thought my legs were going to disintegrate she told us to sit back down. More dialing, more spinning. We were told to stand again, at which point I looked at my young friend with wide, panicked eyes. There would be no more standing for this gal.  The teacher (and everyone else) noticed my distress and told me to just pedal and sit and that I would eventually be able to do the stand and sit routine. I pretended to move my dial when she said we were going uphill. I was a fake spinner.

I have failed to mention that there were mirrors on every wall. I could see my red, huffing face leaning over the handle bars. I could see my large, round derriere quivering on the miniscule bike seat, which was of course hidden from view. My hands were white knuckled as they gripped the handlebars. I could see something pink on my chin. Oh, yes, it was my tongue.

I kept my eyes focused on the clock.  It was a 30 minute class so at any moment we would begin the cool down.

Just then the instructor shouted, "Keep it up! We're halfway there! We've gone 15 miles!"

Doh. It was a 30 MILE class. My mind raced. I tried to think of ways to escape and still save face. I glanced at Lindsey. Fortunately, she seemed to be in a similar boat, although she was still engaging in the sit-down-stand-up business. I focused on the burning sensation in my bottom region and practiced some breathing techniques that got me through labor.

At long last the spinning slowed and the instructor was saying soothing things and people were smiling. Some were leaning back on their seats stretching out, not even hanging on to the handle bars. I was still clinging.

Lindsey came over and asked me if I needed help. I just whimpered. I couldn't move. I was stuck. Or, rather, the seat was stuck. I was pretty sure the only way I was getting out of that room was if someone flipped the bike, and me, onto my side then placed a foot in my lower back and pried the bike seat from between my cheeks. Seriously.

I made it off the bike without such dramatics, although Lindsey was laughing through her own tears.  The class noticed my discomfort.  I heard a lot of , "Oh, yeah, my first time...". People came and slapped me on the back and gave me high fives.

One guy said, "Yeah, I remember it felt like I was riding with a broom handle between my cheeks.  You get used to it."

I decided I didn't want to get used to it.

I'll stick to Sweatin' to the Oldies.  Who wants to join me?