And I'm blaming the spin instructor.
Have you ever picked something back up after several years and thought, "Man! I forgot how easy that was?" Take writing in cursive, for example. You can go years without writing in cursive and never forget how perfectly your pen flows to construct a beautiful string of loopy letters. Or maybe, like me, your memory of learning cursive in second grade with your teacher barking orders at you like a drill sergeant is so terrifying that you vowed to never forget how to perfectly stretch the absolutely vertical letters from the top line to the bottom line on your paper. "Jody, this would be so much easier if you could write with your right hand. Every letter is smudged and leaning." "Jody, those L's aren't straight up and down. Fix them." "Jody, is that a capital X or are you drawing a lasso? That looks terrible. Fill this whole page with nothing but X's. Do you know how often in real life you're going to write a capital X???" OK, so maybe my recount of the letter X is a little off. But she was harsh enough that I still feel a twinge of trepidation when I have to write in cursive and I'm handed a piece of paper without lines.
So on with today's dilemma of feeling like a stove-up geriatric. Last night I decided I'd start spinning again...and I don't mean scratching it at local vinyl coffee shop to mix up outdated 80's tunes. I'm talking about a bike. Spin class. Because, you see, once upon a time, I used to cycle...almost a decade ago. And you never forget how to ride a bike, right??! At least that's what I hear people say who haven't ridden a bike in decades while they're encouraging others to try something potentially hazardous to their health (or the health of anyone else in the general vicinity). But it was a bike. I knew how to do this!! So I adjusted my seat like a pro, hopped right on, tightened my toe straps, and cranked up the resistance. Because I'm a runner, and I'm in shape, you know?? Cranking the pedals was a little more difficult than I anticipated...but I spun like the Devil and got the wheels moving at a tough resistance because I needed a good workout. Once they were going, they turned just fine through the warm up. And they turned just fine through the first sprint, even though the instructor told the class to take the resistance up a notch. By the second increase in resistance with sprints, my heart was pumping like I'd just run a 5K, and by the third...I was winded. Totally winded. And she kept on barking orders like my drill sergeant second grade teacher. I was too terrified not to follow her instructions because she kept looking at me, and I'm a rule follower. Always have been. It's the OCD. The thought crossed my mind to act like I was increasing the resistance when actually leaving it the same, but my heart raced even harder at the prospect of faking my way through something and being found out...thanks a lot, rule following OCD. So I toughed it out. I increased the resistance again. And then she said it was time for push ups. Push ups on a bike? What the cuss??!? I can barely do a push up on the ground. What was I supposed to do?? I could jump off the bike and do the walk of shame through the other cyclists to the door (which happened to be on the other side of the fitness room, and I just happened to pick a bike on the back row). I could fake an injury and use it as an excuse to leave class (would my fake injury heal up in time for class next week?). But my fear of public shaming and not being fit enough forced me to choose option three: suck it up and push on through. The series was brutal: standing sprints, flat back cycling, followed by two minutes of push ups. And we added more resistance each time we repeated the series. I thought I'd died and gone to Hell by the third repeat. My legs were burning. My arms were trembling and on fire, and I'd exhausted every hand position in the hopes of retaining control over my incensed arms. My entire body was sopping wet with sweat...and I'm pretty sure my heart rate was in the 'lethal' zone. Just as I thought I was going to croak, Miley blared out of the speakers. Not just any Miley...it was my favorite Miley, Party in the USA. Heck yes!!! I had this. I really wanted to put my hands up because they were playing my song and all, but I was afraid I'd lose control of my quivering body and my face would crash into the handle bars. Thanks to the spin gods, the instructor finally called time. I survived. After all, it was just riding a bike, right? I dismounted my bike, forced my limp noodle arms into my jacket, and got out of bicycle purgatory as quickly as I could.
I awoke this morning with my arms feeling like I had cinder blocks attached to them and an odd crick in my neck that makes me look like the Hunch Back. I'm blaming it on the push ups.
I think I'll start off with a little less vigor at spin next week.
Today, with my useless T-Rex arms, I'm functioning like a 90 year old after a weight lifting class. It's true: I'm a 35 year old geriatric....at least for two more days. I will survive. I have my best game face on.
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