I mulled over the decision to join an exercise class for quite some time—about a decade, actually. I’m not one to leap into things without considering my options, except when it comes to diving headfirst into a pool of chocolate. So, what is this spin class, you might wonder? It’s essentially a group of individuals pedaling on stationary bikes in a dimly-lit room with pulsating music. Think of it as a nightclub, but with the ambiance of a sauna and the occasional heart palpitations. Naturally, I had my reservations:
- The group dynamic
- The physical exertion
However, it seems that if you wish to build your “quads” and improve your “cardio,” spin class is highly recommended. So, I resolved to tackle this experience with more confidence than I had during my high school cafeteria days. After all, I was an adult and it was time to don my grown-up spandex!
The first step to embarking on this journey was making a reservation—like a velvet rope keeping the non-spinners at bay. The second step? Actually showing up. I did that, only to realize I should have purchased those quirky velcro biking shoes that make you walk like a penguin. Panic set in as I wondered if I needed the padded lycra shorts too. Thankfully, my rear end comes with its own natural padding.
Upon entering, I rushed to the back and settled in—hold on, we’re not using high school metaphors, are we? I introduced myself to the instructor and requested help with the bike setup. I was surprised to find that these bikes were nothing like the Barbie models of my childhood; they resembled props from a film titled “50 Shades of Pain.” There was metal, a leather seat painfully wedged between my legs, and a screen displaying stats like RPMs and resistance, which became increasingly hard to read through my sweat—or was it tears?
Let’s just say, I was the resistance. As the instructor began with some gentle tunes, I felt invincible—until about two and a half minutes in, when my enthusiasm shifted from “Let’s crank up the resistance!” to “Oh sweet mercy, I can’t breathe! Help me! Lower the resistance!” Suddenly, we transitioned to high-energy pop tracks, and the instructor was shouting, “THIS IS YOUR MORNING! WHAT WILL YOU DO WITH IT? CLIMB, CLIMB, CLIMB!”
And so, we were told to rise out of the saddle. Allow me to describe what that feels like: for me, it was less riding a bike and more like a plane taking off repeatedly. My landing gear was definitely out of practice, and every time I crash-landed on that unforgiving seat, it felt like a disaster.
As I climbed the imaginary Mt. Everest with Bruno Mars urging me on, my mind drifted to various scenarios: I was a clunky prop plane crash-landing in a jungle, a distressed Airbus stranded in the Hudson River, or a JetBlue flight circling the airport, desperately trying to burn fuel. Maybe, I thought, I could just hover above the saddle for the entire class!
Of course, that was a fleeting thought before my quads gave out completely. When we finally resumed a seated position after the first hill, I felt victorious. I might have smelled like a used gym sock, but I had only 48 more minutes to go. With a majority of the class being AARP members who were effortlessly outpacing me, I was forced to contemplate the state of my rapidly beating heart and the very real possibility of my impending demise.
On this inaugural spin class adventure, I grasped a few hard truths:
- Cycling is indeed an impact sport. Just ask my behind.
- I have zero interest in cycling on the open road unless it’s downhill on a Huffy adorned with streamers.
- I’m with Lance—surviving cycling may require some assistance, perhaps in the form of Tylenol or other remedies.
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In summary, my first experience in spin class was a mix of triumph and torture, revealing that cycling can indeed be an impact sport—just ask my sore behind.