Virgin Cyclist

Today I decided to try a cycling class.

Now this isn’t my first time cycling. I once sold my car to pay off some debts and spent a good year bicycling everywhere. I used to do about 22 miles a day. Granted this was back in ¬†Phoenix where all the roads are pretty flat.

But it is my first time in a cycling class.

And I’m a little scared.

And why wouldn’t I be? Have you seen how intense some of these classes get??

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I didn’t want to be that one girl dying in the back of the classroom.

But I have to face facts. I AM that girl. I’m going to be that sweat-drenched girl wheezing as she tries to catch her breath looking at the clock counting the seconds to the end of this inhuman torture.

AND PEOPLE ARE JUST GOING TO HAVE TO DEAL WITH IT!

I’m going to get healthy and it’s going to be gross and ugly and it’s going to hurt so bad, but I’m going to do it by golly!

RIVAHHSSSHYPED

So I put my workout clothes on, get in my car, get to the gym, put my stuff in my locker, and I get to the class. I walk in to this room filled with bikes. There are already people there cycling. It’s fifteen minutes until the class actually starts and these people are cycling. I’m already disgusted.

I walk up to one of the bikes in the back (there’s no way I was choosing one in the front, no one needs to see this big booty of mine) and for a good minute I just stare at it. For some reason I’ve completely forgotten how to get on a bike. I must have looked a little lost because one of the overachiever cyclists says “do you need help?”

She had no idea. This was a bad idea. I was two seconds from leaving when the instructor cornered me. “Is this your first time?”

I gulped, “yes.”

She spent the next couple minutes explaining how to adjust the bike for proper seating. She showed me how to adjust the resistance next. She looked up at me to make sure I was getting it and laughed, apparently I still looked freaked out. She clapped my back and said, “Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of this.”

We waited for the last of the stragglers to show up. I opted to cycle with the overachievers while we were waiting. I mean, they were ALL cycling so it would look weird if I didn’t, right?

The instructor dimmed the lights and I knew things were about to get serious. A much pop-pier version of Avril Lavigne’s “Here’s to never growing up” started to play which I thought was ironic because I was the only one under 50 in this class. (Also another reason I felt weird)

We started with a warm-up at the lowest resistance. Okay, I can do this. I got this. Things were going well.

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But after the first five minutes, the instructor was all like “okay time to turn the resistance up”.

But I was doing so good.

I bucked up and turned the resistance up.

“Okay, now we’re going to race.”

I was already going as fast as I could so there was no way that was happening.

“Now we’re going to climb. Everybody stand up.”

Oh no. What is this burning feeling? I’m going to die. No, wait I can do this. Just twenty more seconds. Phew! Did it!

“We’re going to rest for one minute and then we’re going to do that again.”

Wait, what?

I made it through about ten minutes before I outright refused to stand anymore. I could tell the woman next to me was judging me. Did I imagine knocking her off her stationary bike? Oh yeah. Did I? No. It required too much energy.

Not to mention that bike seat was getting really uncomfortable. Who invented this thing, the army? Because these things are like torture devices.

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“We’re winding down now. You can start to turn your resistance down.”

Sweet goodness, yes!

“Cool down!”

Ha! Did I just do this? I sooo just did this.

“Now we’re going to stretch. Time to get off your bikes.”

This is the best news of my life! I got off and my legs almost buckled beneath me. Oooh, my legs felt like rubber.

Whatever! I did it. Whoop whoop! I’m a boss. Who commands this cycling universe?

That’s right. I do.

The instructor stopped me on my way out and asked, “will I see you next time?”

You know, I think she will.

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