Wimp Torture Device

Oooooohhhh... my legs were going to fall off. My head was going to EXPLODE. I was pretty sure I was going to asperate the throwup that I was pretty sure was just waiting for the perfect moment to come spewing out in olympic projectile style spraying all over the perfect perky little face of my spin instructor. Can you go blind from a steady stream of sweat flooding your eyes? I swear I'm seeing halos.

UUUUUGGGGGHHHH... SERIOUSLY WHO DOES THIS FOR FUN?!

really?!

Okay, I have to make a confession. It wasn't even a real spin class. Real spin classes stretch out the bloody, sweaty torture for an hour or more. This was just a 15 minute spin rotation in the boot camp class I attended.

Another confession: my instructor wasn't perky. But it was easier to hate her and wish vomit on her thinking of her in that way. At least she kept quiet and avoided such nausea inducing phrases as "Yaaaay you can do it!", or "Smile through the pain girlies!" or my favorite: "Remember we're working off Mister Ghetto Booty!" Don't name my butt. Ever.

The bikes have a speedometer of sorts on them that tell you how fast you are going. She told us not to go under 85 rpm (? I think that is the measuring unit of choice?) Seriously I was going as fast as my little legs could take me and I could not get that stupid thing over 80.

It must have been broken.

Of course I, thinking I had something to prove (though I'm not sure WHO to), took a bike in the very front so that I wouldn't be tempted to wimp out. Seems like a good plan... expect when the opposite happens and every just sees you wimp out, and possibly go blind. I had to get up 3 times to go get a drink, because sticking out my touch and gulping down the torrents of sweat just wasnt' keeping me hydrated. It's likeunto drinking sea water I guess. I'm pretty sure there were more germs living in my sweat than you would find in a glass of sea water though. Maybe that was lending to the blindness. Poison can make you go blind right?

Anyway, back to the torture. I wouldn't let myself stop. I couldn't. If my instructor had been a bouncy little cheerleader I probably could've walked out and not felt so bad. If I would have run into her later she would have given me a big hug and told me that she thought I did a great job, next time I'd do even better and that my sweaty crusty workout pants were sooooo cute. But, the instructor was a drill sargent. She didn't say much but she didn't have to. I was sitting right in front of her and all she had to do was let her eyes drill holes through my head (wait...THAT is the blindness explanation I knew I smelled burnt flesh when I walked out of there). I couldn't stop. I had to prove I was just as tough as her. She wasn't going to intimidate me. No sir!

"Okay, now I want you to take it up to 90. Don't go under 90. Push yourselves." Ummm... my bike doesn't go up that high. Really, I tried. I pumped my short little legs just as fast as I could possibly get them. You know those veins on the side of your head that sit right about at your temples? You don't want know what it looks like when they burst. But I'm pretty sure that's why my face was purple. Then she hits us with, "Up to 100 for the last 2 minutes. You can do this, push through the burn." YES SIR DRILL SARGENT SIR. There was just no question. We would do it, whether it killed us or not, we would keep going. Anyway, you can do anything for 2 minutes right? When you wake up 2 minutes before your alarm goes off you blink and times up.

Not. In. Spin class.

I tried to find my happy place. Mmmmmm icecream. Great gooey gobs of cookie dough, or chocolate icecream calling my name, dripping from my lips onto a new crisp white shirt..... then the haze wears off and you realize you're not in icecream heaven, but in spin class you know where. But good news, when you space off time flies by so we must be almost done. Good thing too because I was just about to my limit. I was fighting a war with my legs. They wouldn't go any farther. I told them they must. But you hear the amazing olympic stories: when you are at the home stretch, right when you think you can't go any farther, you dig deep and you find just enough strength to pull you past that finish line. And that's what I did. I didn't think it was there, but I reached in deep and found my last reserve... I was going to do this! And then I was going to puke.... BUT I would puke victoriously!

I can't believe it, I can't believe I survived, I pushed myself past my limit!

I CAN DO ANYTHING!

"Only a minute thirty seconds left girls!"

WHAT THE?! It's only been 30 seconds?!

I quit.

ps... I didn't really quit... but I think I may have spewed projectile vomit on her stone-like face.

pps... I saw the instructor in the halls at the gym this morning. She smiled and told me my work out pants were cute. She seems like a cool girl. Maybe I'll give the class one more try.

ppps... the above picture is not me. It is actually Keanu Reeves. I thought it was appropriate because he looks just as silly on this "hog" as I did on the spin bike. How come no one is paying photogs thousands of dollars to snap ridiculous pictures of me?!