So I’m getting older. That’s a fact of life. But what really snuck up on me in the past few years is how lazy I’ve gotten. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always been lazy. It’s the curse of my life, but I’ve always been fairly physically fit. What I haven’t been keeping up with is my cardio. I noticed this the other day while doing standing acro with a friend. We went through a series of poses starting with High Bird (think Dirty Dancing lift) and then transitioning through several others where I’m supporting her over my head with one arm. When I set her down, I noticed that my heart was racing and that I was short of breath. It seemed weird to me because, while those lifts do take strength, I wouldn’t have thought it would affect my heart that way. Both my blood pressure and cholesterol have been borderline for a few years now and I’m not OK with that. Yes, diet can change those things, but I also believe that exercise is helpful. That said, I decided to take a spin class.

And Away We Go

I’ve been to spinning classes before, but it’s been a while. Like, not this decade. Or the one before that. So it was with some apprehension that I went. I’ve read stories about middle-aged men who tried to exercise like they did when they were younger and they ended up having a heart attack. To avoid being carried out on a stretcher, I decided not to go all out my first time back. It seemed appropriate, but also amusing to me, that I was more worried about the embarrassment of being carried out on a stretcher than the actual proposed heart attack. Someday I’m going to have to reassess my priorities.

I check in to the health club and said good-bye to my sweetie, ’cause, you know, I may never see her again. I remembered that the class is supposed to be popular and that I needed to reserve a spot at the front desk. I turn around and head back. As I go to sign in, I see several people have already done so, but it looked awkward. Instead of signing up one, two, three and so on, they signed up for 18, 32, 11 and other random numbers. I didn’t want to seem like I didn’t know what that meant, so I signed up for 16. Why not.

I get in the classroom and as I’m setting up my chosen bike I realize that all the bikes are numbered and it’s possible people signed up the way they did because that was the bike number they wanted to use. Now I’m uncomfortable. I look for bike 16 and I don’t like where it is in the room, so I decide to stay where I am. “No big deal”, I tell myself. If someone says something to me I can plead ignorance, smile nicely and offer to move. Meanwhile, I eye everyone who comes in and wait to see if they are going to say something to me. As if impending death weren’t bad enough, now I have added awkward social anxiety to deal with.

The Instructor

Since I’m already watching everyone come in, I give them all the once over to see if I can actually do this or if I am well and truly screwed. I think I’m good. Aside from the very fit people, there are some older folks, some heavier folks, and some heavier and older folks. Then I see the instructor, Vlad, come in and he appears to be in his mid-to-late-50’s or so. I’m feeling better until I look at his legs. I’m fairly sure Vlad did some steroids, just from the waist down. I’m not sure how he worked that out, but I’m fairly certain that’s what happened. Once again, I see myself being carried out the door.

The class is about to start and a woman walks near me. She doesn’t say anything, but silently stalks around me, eyeing me the whole time. She fidgeted with the bike on my right a bit, then decided she doesn’t like it. She goes to the bike on my left, fidgets with that one for a minute and finally sets up there. I’m fairly certain this was the person whose bike I stole. I feel a little bad, but honestly, the room is set up with almost 50 bikes. There’s about 15-20 of us in the room. If she can’t vocalize anything to me, she can deal.

In The Beginning

Vlad starts the class. He gives this spiel about “not holding back” and that “you’re only cheating yourself.” I know better. By being in this class at all I am already cheating death, so I decide I can take some liberty with his instructions. Half turns, full turns, whatever. I’m just going to play it by ear and if I have to pretend I turned the damn dial, I will. Music starts thumping, spin cycling’s greatest hits, I think. Whatever. The beat is pretty good and judging the music takes my mind off what I’m doing. Yes, all my mindful techniques did get shot to hell today. So sue me.

We’re ten minutes in and I feel good. I remember sweating more when I took these classes. I remind myself I’m not out of the water yet. We start doing hills. It starts to get to me, but I wasn’t stupid enough to put a lot of tension on the bike. The singer starts saying something like, “Yeah, I’m gonna do you hard!” The fuck are we listening to, Vlad?? That astonishment got me through the rest of the hills.

The “Taint Bounce”

Then we did what I’m going to fondly call the “taint bounce.” In case you’re wondering, the “taint” is technically called the “perineum.” If you don’t know what the perineum is a) you’re probably a guy and 2) you’re on your own to look it up. I’m not sure if this move was developed by Vlad or some other evilly inspired spin instructor, but we were spinning at about half speed, maybe a little faster when Vlad instructed, “Stand!” I got through about two rotations and he shouted, “Sit!” On and on it went, stand, sit, stand, sit, stand. Basically, we’re just bouncing up and down on our (hard as rock) seats and trying to pedal at the same time. God knows for how long this went on. All I’m sure of is that I’m feeling rubbed fucking raw and I’m not happy about it.

The Trooper

We get some blessed relief and just spin easily for a while. My butt is sore but if I get it in a good spot I can’t feel the pain. I consider that I’m probably not going to be comfortable sitting for the next two days. Screw it. It’s good for my health, right? Vlad says we’re going to start spinning faster and gets off his bike to change the music. Seemed weird, but he puts on the Trans-Siberian Orchestra. I’m cool with that and, to be honest, I was shocked at how well it went with trying to get my legs to move so quickly in little tiny circles. It really was fucking great. I felt like I was flying. I take a moment and wonder at the fact that I still have fast-twitch fibers in my legs. Who knew? They haven’t been used in decades. While I was marveling to see those puppies back in action, I suddenly realized I knew the song that was being covered. Iron Maiden. The Trooper. Sweet! Even though it’s an instrumental, the lyrics immediately pop into my head. “You’ll take my life, but I’ll take yours, too!” The woman whose bike I stole glares at me. I think I may have said that out loud. Now I’ve been upgraded from asshole to psycho. Oh well, she already hates me, I’m just going to enjoy the music.

It Was Short Lived

MORE taint bounces?!? Are you fucking kidding me, Vlad? Different singers are now doing each other over the speakers. What the fuck? Some small, dim part of me realizes that I decided yesterday to be less judgmental of people and things. The therapist in me pokes his head up and I start ruminating on my childhood. I made some great progress, therapeutically speaking, until I realized I was dripping in sweat. Literally dripping. I don’t think there was a dry spot on my shirt. When the hell did that happen? All life changing revelations have been forgotten in sweaty wonder.

The End

The class comes to a close. We stretch for about 30 seconds. I follow the group of people to the towel station so we can clean the puddles of sweat off our bikes. The person in front of me grabs hers and turns around. It’s my bike neighbor who hates me. She glares at me, but I’m used to it by now. To get around each other we each cut to my right, then my left. Finally, I go left and, with a parting glare, she goes right.

My legs are feeling unsteady as I walk towards the lockers. I notice a pretty girl looking at me from a treadmill. I know she’s either amazed/appalled at how sweaty I am or staring at my tattoos, but I smile to myself anyway. As I’m enjoying the look, I dimly realize that my unsteady legs have walked me directly into the path of another treadmill. I somehow manage to avoid both the treadmill and falling on my face, which I’m sure would have resulted in my being carried out on a stretcher…

I know my ass is going to be sore for the next few days, but I made it through class. More importantly, I didn’t die. Yay me.