I hate spinning. I know it's really popular right now, but remember leg warmers were once popular too. Sure, everyone talks about what a great workout it provides, and some people even claim that spinning has helped them lose weight, or look younger, or regrow lost limbs, but I hate it, and not just because I already have all my limbs. The instructors are channeling the Marquis de Sade, the seats are made of titanium, and you can never, ever, coast. I attended a class recently and here's how it went:
Before I could even start, I had to adjust the bike to fit my body. This is more complicated than it sounds. There are controls for seat height, handlebar height, seat distance from handlebars, cupholder height, handlebar distance from front wheel, cell phone carrier, heart monitor brand, and underwear style. I was wearing "regular" shoes (bet you thought I was going to say underwear!), so I had to find a bike with toe clips, as opposed to the ones with pegs for special bike shoes.
Once everyone had made the appropriate modifications to his or her bicycle, the instructor began a friendly chat with the class. Okay, let's get warmed up. Get up on that hard, uncomfortable bike seat, and slide your feet into the awkward pedal clips. Remember, don't put your foot in the clip before you are on the bike or you'll fall, just like that woman in the back in the "regular" shoes.
Everyone uncomfortably seated? Good. Now take it easy while you're warming up, only go about 200 rpm. Everybody there? Great. Hmm, you in the back, you look like you're having a little trouble with the speed. Try easing up on the tension a bit. It's already at the lowest setting? Just do the best you can. (snicker)
Once the warmup was done, the instructor dropped all pretense of caring and warmth. She began to yell cryptic instructions to the class, which everyone understood except me. Standing climb! Get up off that seat! (What? I just got the hydraulic seat incline torque control adjusted!) This is where I learned that if the tension is not high enough, when I try to stand up my feet will get away from me and I will look like a hamster running on a wheel, except this hamster is on crack. After four minutes of flailing around, which felt more like four hours, I finally got to sit back down.
Then the instructor announced that we must commence pedaling much, much faster. (Well, she said 'you', but I'm sure she meant the class, not me personally, or maybe she did, but I pretended not to know that.) Fast flat! Move it! Having been born without the 'sprint' gene, I continued at my own glacial pace. I pedaled just fast enough to convince anyone who happened to glance my way that I was still conscious and alert, so they wouldn't rush over and begin performing first aid.
The rest of the class, inexplicably, was totally on board with the program of pain and suffering. Their legs were going around so fast they were a blur. I believe some of those bikes were smoking but that could have just been my vision fading in and out. One looked like it would leap from its stand and take off across the room. Meanwhile the instructor was calmly speaking as though she were only out for a short jaunt in the park, encouraging the rest of class (having given up on the woman in the back) to continue at their breakneck speed. They sprinted for several minutes, or eons, depending on your point of view, and at the end of each minute, somehow everyone was expected to stand up in the pedals while still pedaling very fast, and yet still avoid that 'hamster on crack' effect.
After about a half-hour of various hills, jumps, flats, and stuff I can't remember the name of, or maybe I just don't want to remember, I noticed something odd. The instructor did not appear to be sweating. How could that be? I looked around the room and most people were, at the very least, shiny. I, of course, have the somewhat noticeable characteristic of being an overachiever in this field. I sweat so freely when I'm exercising, or even reading about exercising, that my friends have commented on it. I'm sure they are jealous of my efficient cooling system. Because of this gift from Mother Nature, by the end of class my bike was standing in an actual puddle. Instead of a sweat towel, I needed a bucket. Or a kiddie pool. Maybe I should wear flippers instead of "regular" shoes. At any rate, if I ever go back, I won't have to worry about people crowding their bikes close to mine.
After an eternity, which turned out to be 58 minutes and 37.3 seconds, we finally got to the best part of class, the part where we stopped pedaling. We stretched while still on the bike (no, I didn't fall.) Getting off the bike (out of the toe clips, then step over. Got it.) was a huge relief. Until I tried to walk. It seems I forgot how, temporarily. Luckily, I regained the skill immediately after I realized the next cycling class was about to begin. In fact, I was at that point able to walk quite briskly from the room, and I never looked back.
