Just Call Me Lance
So as you know, Dr. College Ex-Boyfriend suggested I lay off the Boot Camp for a couple weeks to let my foot heal a bit and said instead I should try a spinning class, or as us out of shape folks say, a stationary bike.
When I told Samuel this morning I was going to go ride bikes with Auntie Shannon he freaked out a little bit thinking I was leaving the Y and that he would be at the kid center by himself. I told him no, its a bike that doesn't go anywhere. Samuel, in his cutest little voice said, "That doesn't make any sense. How do you get exercise on a bike that doesn't go anywhere?" Love that kid.
This being my first spinning class, Shannon graciously accompanied me although she is leaving for Hawaii in the morning. She reminded me of this later when half-way a painful "climb up a mountain" she looked at me and said "one hyphenated word: mai-tai." I hate her sometimes.
The spinning class pretty much sucked for a whole 50 minutes. Sucked in a good way, like the teacher is easy on the eyes, the playlist was rocking and it was an awesome work-out but oh wow does that class suck. Why didn't anyone tell me my cooter was going to hurt that bad? Why don't they just make those seats, or saddles as they call them, out of razor blades and get it over with? 10 minutes in and I started composing a letter to Hot Jeff in my head apologizing to him that we would never, ever, ever have sex again. I seriously do not see how putting a little cushion in to those saddles is going to make anyone's work-out less effective and maybe they would be a little more apt to go back if their butt bones weren't bruised after the class.
After a few sets of 8 counts up, 8 counts down, 4 counts up, 4 counts down, 2 counts up, 2 counts down we did ANOTHER freaking mountain climb, well the rest of the class did, I mostly sat and pedaled and wondered when were we going to get to the part in the class when the instructor told us to get off our bikes and walk it up the hill. It became very clear to me that's not how they roll in spinning class and I was going to just have to keep pedaling. Pedaling. Pedaling.
So here's the good news: I did not cry. I did not throw up. I did go buy a little Schwinn gel seat slip cover and I'm taking it with me to class tomorrow because I'll be darned if I'm not stick with this awful class just because of some sort butt bones. Although believe me, there is absolutely nothing I would rather do more tomorrow than sleep through my alarm that will be going off at 4:30am. I take that back; a butt and cooter transplant sounds pretty good right about now. What would that be called? 'Ginaplasty?