After a decade of contemplation, I finally mustered the courage to try a spin class. For those unfamiliar, a spin class consists of a group of individuals pedaling on stationary bikes in a dimly lit room, set to heart-pounding music—think of a nightclub ambiance combined with the heat of a sauna, where the faint sound of gasping for breath can be heard.
Naturally, I had a few reservations:
- The group dynamic
- The physical exertion
However, it turns out that if you wish to strengthen your “quads” and improve your cardiovascular fitness, spin class is considered a viable option. Thus, I decided to tackle this experience with a sense of maturity—after all, I was an adult ready to don my spandex!
The initial step in this journey was making a reservation, which I likened to a velvet rope keeping non-participants at bay. The next step was showing up, which I did—only to realize I also needed those peculiar velcro cycling shoes that make one walk awkwardly. Panic set in as I contemplated whether I should don padded lycra shorts. Thankfully, I possess a naturally cushioned rear.
Upon entering the studio, I gravitated toward the back—let’s avoid any high school cafeteria comparisons—and sought help from the instructor with equipment setup. To my surprise, the bikes were nothing like the childhood Barbie bicycles; they resembled contraptions from a dystopian film, complete with metal parts and a leather seat that felt rather unforgiving. The display screen showed metrics like RPMs and resistance, which soon became obscured by my perspiration.
As the class progressed, I shifted from a state of enthusiasm—”Let’s crank up that resistance!”—to sheer panic—”Oh no, I can’t breathe!” This transition occurred approximately 2 minutes and 30 seconds in. The instructor then encouraged us with motivational chants to “climb” as we approached an imaginary mountain.
“Rising out of the saddle”—or pedaling while standing—felt more like a series of unfortunate takeoffs and landings than an equestrian experience. With each rise, I envisioned myself as a plane struggling to maintain altitude. As I climbed this metaphorical mountain with Bruno Mars blaring in the background, thoughts of crash landings plagued me. I even considered maintaining a perpetual ascent, thinking perhaps I would never have to sit down again.
Upon finally returning to the saddle after that initial hill, I felt an odd sense of victory. Sure, I was exhausted and probably smelled less than pleasant, but I had made it through. With 48 minutes left to go, I realized that when a significant portion of the class consisted of AARP members effortlessly outpacing me, it was time for some self-reflection.
From my first day in spin class, I gleaned several truths:
- Cycling is indeed an impact sport—my rear end can attest to this.
- I have no desire to ride on open roads unless I’m coasting downhill on a nostalgic Huffy adorned with streamers.
- As Lance Armstrong might suggest, the only way to endure this cycling ordeal is through clever planning (or perhaps some pain relief).
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In summary, if you’re contemplating taking up cycling—or a spin class—prepare yourself for a surprisingly impactful experience that might just leave you with a newfound appreciation for your posterior.