Bicycle session at the gym put me in a right spin

Mairead Wilmot
I PRESUME it’s a bad reflection on me that a kindly lady (a) offered me half of her Nature Valley bar, and then (b) offered to take me home after my spinning class. I know I was definitely in shock, the extent of which must have been blindingly obvious to others.

It was my first-ever spinning class, you see. My first and, possibly, my last.

“Take a spinning class,” my friend Karen said. “It will change your life.”

Yeah, sure, it changed my life alright. That ten-mile road race I did last year, the Get Fit Bootcamp thing I did.

Pah, they were nothing – nothing compared to spin. Firstly, I should just point out that my fitness level is akin to a small, fat dog, who can just about toddle alongside its owner for 50 metres before sprawling out on the footpath demanding to be carried home.

You see, I had decided, given that I am newly single, that I would fill the gaping hole, which might previously have been taken up with entertaining my significant other, with exercise.

It was to be my foolproof plan for getting over heartbreak. If it was successful, I had planned to pen a feelgood novel/short story/magazine article, the length of which would all depend on how successful my quest turned out.

And so, for the past few weeks, I have thrown myself to the exercise wolves and, in the meantime, managed to gain – yes, gain – an impressive three pounds. Yes, yes, it’s a miracle.

Anyhow ... Christ, what am I talking about again? Oh yes, I’m just going to recap here, mostly for my own benefit: I had decided exercise would fill a gaping hole and, on my friend’s recommendation, I stupidly signed up for a spinning class.

I say stupidly because, really, I had no idea what was involved. I was vaguely aware that bikes were used and, despite me having a bike phobia ever since my ample behind was brutally injured during what was supposed to be a casual bicycle ride last summer, I felt enough time had passed for me to get back on the saddle.

I had also been warned that spinning was supposed to be tough, but, to be honest, I just thought people were over-reacting.

As it turns out, they were not. Armed with blissful ignorance, I entered the class, really not knowing what to expect. It was probably the best thing for me.

Everyone looked fit, primed and ready for action – I looked like I had stumbled into the gym by accident. I can’t recall much of the class, probably because my body went into shutdown mode. I just remember catching occasional glimpses of my head in the mirror – it had turned a shade of puce. I also recall beads of sweat dripping from my face to the ground beneath me and stifling a groan as the instructor shouted things like “stand, cycle, cycle, increase resistance, stand, sit, hover, hover, increase resistance, faster, faster, faster, hover.”

And I remember that the instructor was a trickster, too! She kept saying: “Last one now, last one” and I kept thinking: “Oh last one? That must mean this is nearly over ... excellent.”

No, no, that is not what she meant at all. I spent about 40 minutes thinking the class was about to be over before I realised that when she said “last one”, she meant “last one in this set”.

When it was over, I can best describe my condition as being in a “confused state”. I walked to my car and just stood there, holding the keys in my hand. That’s when the nice lady pulled up next to me and offered me some of her Nature Valley bar. Then she offered to take me home.

I’m not so sure I’ll be going back to spinning class.