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So I mentioned to a friend that I needed a new fitness adventure and the next thing I know I have my butt planted firmly on a seat that feels like it wants to bite me and my feet are restrained so I can’t get away. What sort of fitness adventure is so horrible that they need to lock you in place so you can’t escape? Spinning. Spinning is that horrible. At least these are my initial thoughts. Why there is such a thing as spinning, I don’t really understand. It seems to me that riding a stationary bike in a gym is about the same as getting in a car with no wheels. I mean, what’s the point when you can’t go anywhere?       
 At home I love my stationary bike, it’s a great way to watch tv while avoiding the temptation of eating all the potato chips in the house. But overall, I’m more of an outdoor person, a runner, a hiker, a soccer kid watcher. In the gym I tend to feel claustrophobic. To be perfectly honest, I avoid gyms because I am the most uncoordinated person I know. Aerobics, step class, any dance class – off limits for me. I was actually banned once from an aerobics class for endangering the people around me. It’s okay, I’ve made peace with myself and I accept my limitations. I have my running. In running, there are really only two moving parts to worry about. As long as I can remember left foot, right foot, I’m pretty much good. Even I can get that. When running, I never worry about my arms; they just fly free. As long as they don’t trip me, I’m okay and they only slow me down a bit. Here in the gym on this bike, my arms are free but I’m worried about my feet. They are not free and they are nervous. But I have more pressing problems. My butt is already feeling a strange gnawing sensation that makes me keep shifting positions, and we haven’t even started pedaling yet.
The instructor comes in and she is about four feet tall and built like a willow. A very toned willow. She smiles and introduces herself. She seems really nice and I watch as she straps on a microphone. There are only two of us in the room other than her and I wonder why she needs it. My radar is on high alert, that is, if my radar is in my ass. If my feet weren’t locked in I would be running out the door right now. This little woman is going to kill me, I am sure of it. I look over at my friend and she flips me the thumbs up. She’s assured me this will be a blast and I’ll be hooked. I’m hooked all right, but when someone lets me out of here I’m going after my friend with all I’ve got.
I shake my head. Time for some positive energy. Because I’ve committed to trying new fitness adventures this year, here I am and darn it, I’m going to enjoy this even if it does kill me. So I smile and nod at my friend. Anyway, how hard can forty-five minutes of spinning be?
All of a sudden music is blasting and we’re pedaling like maniacs and after that it’s all one big blur until the music stops and I realize with relief that the puddle under my bike is only sweat. My water bottle is empty, my breathing is fast and those wacky little endorphins are racing all over screaming and yelling and dancing up a party. What a rush! We sprinted, we climbed, we surged, we jumped (don’t ask, I really can’t explain), we sat, stood, leaned, hovered, wiggled and waggled. I feel like I’ve just won the Tour de France.
The instructor frees my feet and I stumble out of the gym, my friend hot on my heels. I turn to her and note the smug look on her face. She knows me well. I reach my car and gingerly sit myself down. I don’t know how my butt is so sore when I spent so much time standing up on that bike. My friend waves at me and I lower the window.
“See you next week”, she says.
And she will.
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