Spin was a bad choice. Punishing my body perched on a metal bike while attempting not to black-out is not my idea of a rewarding morning.
It is however sister's new past time. She wakes up at the crack of dawn to get in her exercise before work. She is kind enough to invite me every time.
This is a motivation that can not be aroused in my personal being. We have completely different exercise styles, which is not an issue for me. I go to yoga every week to lengthen, strengthen and be part of a community. She can hustle into the dark of morning and strap herself to a hard bike seat all she wants.
I decided spin at 10 a.m. was doable. Not sure why I thought a time change would make all the difference. Trying to push forward with "climb a hill" resistance still makes my heart want to explode just as much at 10 as it does at seven in the morning.
Dustin the spiky-haired spin teacher helped me adjust my bike as a first timer. He explained the general description of the work-out with a microphone already strapped to his face. I tried to look more informed and prepared than the other new girl next to me.
The bikes are cramped into a small concrete room facing a wall of mirrors. That way we can watch the pounds shed and the blood pour off our thick thighs. This adds the bonus of being able to watch the chunky girl in the corner sweat and feel immensely better about your own form.
Some skinny chick with Rambo arms glared at me from across the room. Not sure if she hated my sweatband or her life for coming to spin class.
Never thought I would ever be so motivated by a Ray J club mix. Dustin seemed extra pumped when the Mylie Cyrus remix and mouthed the words while he told us to "tap it up."
I started to hate him from deep within my burning core.
I tried to find the woman who kept woohooing upon every increase in resistance to give a death stare in the mirror. Instead I found the chunky girl again and we exchanged a mutual look of fear. It's the exerciser's friendly hello.
Tunnel vision brought the exits into focus. No way to sneak out and avoid a complete fail.
For all the times I complained as we moved from Warrior two into a twisted airplane, I repent. Yoga may cause my muscles to be weak and my knee to shake like a jackhammer, but it's nothing a bowl of great noodles can't solve.
By the time I could drown-out Dustin's voice and pedal to the rhythm of beat, the class was over.
I applauded myself for surviving and whispered threats to sister about taking her to see Bryan Kest at Wednesday night yoga. I almost fell asleep mid-step after his last class. I was on the stairs, so luckily that didn’t happen.
At home in the shower, I found a drinking glass I left full of a clear tea tree oil treatment. The glass had a lipstick mark on the rim. I almost slipped on my head from hysterical laughter. Sister does not want to know what I used that for.
Guess we can call it even.
