So I became obsessed with Spinning. Not the act itself, but booking a class— It's so popular at my gym, it fills up instantly! An 8:30 a.m. class starts taking reservations exactly 26 hours prior— A digital clock ticks down the seconds—
So I am now setting my alarm the day before at 6:25 a.m. so I can book a bike at exactly 6:30.
The alarm goes off, I zip downstairs to get my phone with the gym's app, zip back up to get back into bed— Then, with a scream, at 6:29 a.m., I realize I left my reading glasses downstairs— The print's too tiny to see— I sprint back down— I'm not even in the saddle and my heart rate is up to 150! But—
Ding! I'm in! At 6:31 there are two bikes left, and one is mine, mine, mine!
I arrive the next morning, amped up, even though I have no idea how to spin. Tonya, our Amazon-like spinning instructress, approaches me. She asks if I am wearing cycling shoes. I do not know what those are. No matter. She fetches metal toe-holders that look like tiny bear traps.
I'm getting in deep.
All the arriving cyclists are very excited. They wear cut off shirts and bike pants and backwards caps. They're a team. And here we go, cycling, to the B-52's Love Shack. Tonya exhorts us to greet each other and exchange high-fives. "Woo hoo!" everyone yells. I've discovered a cult! I love it!
"Go to 70% of your max!" Tonya cries out. "Play with your edge!"
I ignore that and just continue at the easiest gear possible. I'm spinning! I sing along to the next tune: "Her name is Rio and she dances on the sand!"
But here's the thing. I start sweating copiously. It's ridiculous. It looks like there's something wrong with me. My face is dripping, as are arms, hands. Soon—and I am not making this up—even my bike is sweating. It's dripping from the handle bars. Oh, the horror.
The next day, my partner shows me an article about this new exercise-induced side effect called Rhabdomyolysis. Suffered mostly by first-time spinners, it's where overworked muscles strain your kidneys and your pee turns brown. "I'm amazed you survived!" he said. But I wonder how my poor infected bike is doing.
So that's it for me. I went, I spun, I conquered.
Next up? Yoga for nappers. Lavender pillows -- hold the toe clips.