Like a Record Baby Right Round Round Round.
This past weekend I took my first spinning class. For the uninitiated: spinning is a form of self-flagellation exercise wherein you strap your feet to a funny looking stationary bike in a class full of other people and pedal furiously to loud music while an instructor shouts vaguely threatening exhortations over the THUMPTHUMPTHUMP of your beating heart.
I went with my eldest cousin, who is nearly six feet tall and approximately the circumference of a lamppost. She is ten years older than me, and more attractive than I have ever been or ever will be, short of the act of a benevolent god. I showed up at her house at 7:30 in the morning wearing a raggedy pair of housepants from Target and a years-old tank that barely contained my…er…assets, causing them to smoosh pastily over the edges. She had donned an adorably coordinated gym outfit, Prada sunglasses, and was carrying a large handbag that probably cost more than I pay in rent. I felt ravishing.
At Eldest Cousin’s gym, we proceeded into a large studio filled with spinning bikes and alarmingly toned people. Now, I am no Twiggy, but it had never occurred to me that I would be the largest member of the class, and yet I was, by a longshot. I felt like an elephantine interloper at a watering hole populated by gazelles. They seemed to know each other, and while I couldn’t hear their conversations, I could imagine their content:
GIRL: I’m awfully tan!
GUY: We both are!
GIRL (flexing bicep): Look at my ripply arms! Those are probably muscles!
GUY: Didn’t I see you at CardioFatBlastJamXtreme this morning?
GIRL: Yes! I’ve been here since 4:30!
GUY: We should have sex soon!
About this time I started wondering how I’d gotten myself into this mess. Maybe you are wondering the same thing. “This doesn’t sound like Alexa,” you’re saying to yourself, “She doesn’t belong in a gym! She belongs on a silken tuffet, being fed ambrosia and cheese by a well-endowed Italian prince while Hugh Laurie whispers P.G. Wodehouse quotes in her ear!” And you’re right, of course. Once again, I blame Weight Watchers.
You see, Weight Watchers rewards exercise with Activity Points, which can be traded for food. I have been doing a half-hour weight routine every other day, which leaves me aching, complicates my schedule, and nets me ONE measly Activity Point, which is enough for half a shot of gin. I recently read that an hour of Spinning, on the other hand, merits SEVEN Activity Points, roughly the equivalent of a Cornish game hen. I’m no mathematician, but even I could see that a Cornish game hen was bigger than one quarter of a martini, and all I’d have to do is pedal for an hour! I’d be sitting down the whole time!
*Hollow laugh*
So, to resume—Eldest Cousin graciously nets us bicycles in the back of the room, and as she is helping me adjust the seat, the instructor, a fearsome woman with abdominals that appear to be actually whittled out of her flesh, comes over shaking her head.
“No way ladies, no one stays in back when there are bikes in front.”
The bikes are arranged in a semicircle facing another bike, presumably belonging to Whittles. She slaps two bikes in the front row. “Up here. Come on.”
I edge towards the door.
“This is my cousin, it’s her first time,” says EC bravely. I give Whittles a bashful smile.
“Good. Then she’ll be right up front where I can keep an eye on her.”
No. No. I don’t want anyone’s eyes on me. But I am pretty sure that Whittles can smell fear, so I shuffle up to my new bike, which she brusquely adjusts. More spinners flood into the room, so many that some are turned away, and now, of course, people are allowed in the back rows. I curse our punctuality.
My feet strapped to the pedals, I begin cycling nonchalantly. Those around me are pedaling without the handlebars, hands on hips. I try this and tip alarmingly sideways. This is both embarrassing and painful. It is a little known fact, but the seats of spinning bikes are carved from diamond, the hardest substance known to man.
Whittles straps on a headset and leaps astride her bike, shouting questions at us regarding our readiness to rock. Jay-Z comes blaring out of the speakers.
The next hour is something I’d rather not dwell upon in great detail. I don’t know that I could do it justice, and until you’ve sat astride a bike sweating and panting and pumping your legs to “London Bridge” while someone in leggings shouts at you and pantomimes spanking…well, you just wouldn’t understand. There were times I did not believe I would make it through with all valves of my heart intact, times when the hardness of the seat made me certain that if I were not already infertile, I would be by the end of class. I was ashamed that during the portions of the hour when Whittles lifted her pert ass in the air and cycled standing up, I was the only one in the room too weak to do the same. But I emerged alive and triumphant, walking jelly legged to the car, flushed with victory and not a little sick to my stomach.
I knew the next day I would not be able to walk, or sit, or bear the feeling of tight jeans against my undercarriage, where a bruise in the shape of a bicycle seat was beginning to blossom. But by god, the bagel and cream cheese I had on my way home was worth every minute.
20 Comments
I’m wiping away tears of laughter even as I type. Oh, Alexa, that is too funny. It’s like something I read recently in a book (the Cinderella Pact, if you must know) but better because it’s real and it happened to you. You go! (I’m spitting crumbs as I cheer you on from the sidelines, stuffing yet more of my mother’s babka and butter into my face.)
Dear Alexa, that was hilarious! By the time you brought up the diamonds, I was snorting so loud my husband peeked his head in the door. Brilliant stuff!
She pantomimed spanking?
You’re right, I woudn’t understand.
I took a spinning class once.
Once. Because once was enough. Pure torture.
C’mon, didn’t I see once on Sex and the City that you can get activity points for sex? That sounds like a lot more fun than spinning. Go on– get to it.
Oh, the dialogue, the Tanned Gym Rat dialogue - it absolutely killed me.
Girl: Look at how jaunty my pontytail is - not a hair out of place!
Guy: That’s true! And did you notice? When I sweat, I just glisten bronzely! No red-faced exertion for me!
I’m still laughing at “shouting questions at us regarding our readiness to rock.”
Stumbled onto your blog somehow or another, and decided it was high time to comment, because this was absolutely hilarious.
Too funny! Seriously, what gives a “leader” of a class of stationary bicyclists the right to get bossy? If you refused to move, will she make you drop and give her fake 20? Makes one wonder…
It’s like I was there. And boy did I want to get out!
That was sooooo funny!
As if a spinning class isn’t bad enough, to have an agro instructor who makes you sit in front is just too, too much.
After taking a few classes, I actually resorted to buying those padded bike shorts which honestly make my already large ass look about TEN times bigger than it normally does, but the humiliation is totally worth the extra comfort. I don’t sob quiet tears of pain at the end of every class now…
You are too fucking funny. This is exactly why I stay away from all gyms and yoga classes. I know I would show up all muffintopping out of my crappy unfashionable workout gear, and be in a sea of tanned, thin gorgeous people.
I have to say though, if they played Jay-Z things can’t be all bad, right?
I much preferred the thought of sitting on the silken tuffet.
There have to be less cruel ways to earn activity points.
You are a master of storytelling!
If you’re going back, I would HIGHLY recommend one of the gel seat cushions. They’re like $7 at Wal-Mart or Target and reduce the discomfort factor immensely. You’ll still be sore the next day, but you will actually be able to sit down without wincing.
I haven’t been to a spinning class in months, but I can completely understand where you’re coming from!
This is my first time visiting. She pantomimed spanking? Seriously? I’ll definitely be back. You are too funny!
I quite like spinning (no major coordination required, at least compared with other group exercise!), but I find that it leaves my AREA numb, and that can’t be good, so I don’t do it anymore. Feel free to use my excuse.
OMG. HATE spinning. Hate. It. Your post gave me flashbacks. I tried spinning once about 8 years ago and I couldn’t walk or move well for four days after. Not sure now if it was because I left my lady parts dead on the floor of the gym… or my legs just up and siezed.
It’s a short hour to paralysis, I tell you. How is that fitness?
Screw the hen, go for the gin! And I love your blog. :)
At least you had good music. The last spinning class I was in played “Eye of the Tiger”. It’s really difficult to laugh and breath and pedal at the same time.
I have to second the suggestion for padded bike shorts. They help the extreme pain. I used to do spinning in high school to get my teenage doughiness in shape for Air Force basic training. I was the only person, so said the instructor, to ever seriously injure themselves on the stationary bike. I opened up the top of my knee pretty well.
As far as WW points go - I go for the elliptical! 30 minutes of Medium/High effort, and you can go at your own pace without being ogled by the Uber-Jocks (may they die trapped under free weights).
That was hilarious! I read the part about “I felt like an elephantine interloper at a watering hole populated by gazelles” to my husband, but I’m afraid to say he didn’t get it. Too bad for him.
There’s got to be a better way to get activity points, but surely they won’t be so entertaining to tell.
That was hysterical. I so identify with you. I haven’t been to a gym for quite some time, I just can’t make myself. But I well remember the days when I valiantly tried to do aerobics about 10 years or more ago, and had to drop out every time after the 10 minute warmup! By the end of those 10 minutes I was sweating and panting and couldn’t do anymore, and it wasn’t even the main part of the routine.