COLUMN: Spin Class

I think I've officially figured out my least favorite part about the little, err, cardiac event I suffered earlier this summer.

Was it the pain? Nah. The multiple doctor visits?  The complete 180-degree lifestyle change I've had to make? The unwanted reminder of the fragility of existence? The taste of broccoli?

Nope. I'm pretty sure my least favorite part of this whole ordeal is that I can no longer make fun of people who exercise.

Let's not mince words: I was judging you people. From the comfort of my sedentary lifestyle with a burger in my hand, I was judging you and your sanctimonious, self-righteous ways. Every time you jogged past my house, I was judging you and all your friends with the unmitigated gall to run through life physically fit. I'm talking to all you people with your gyms and your hot yogas and your 5Ks thinking you're better than us lowly couch-dwelling folk. I mocked your very presence in our world.

And now? Now... I am one of you. I walk on treadmills and lift weights and stand upright on elliptical machines for TEN WHOLE MINUTES yesterday. I can no longer mock the exercised, for I have drank from their Kool-Aid. Their sugar-free, low carb, electrolyte-laden Kool-Aid. When I woke the other day at 7 a.m. and thought, "oh, I should go work out for a bit," that was the precise moment I lost any claim at mocking people who exercise. 

It didn't stop me from trying, though -- but karma saw through that right away. The morning I woke at 7 a.m. was the morning of the Quad City Marathon. As I crossed the Centennial Bridge en route to the gym, dozens of runners were also making their way across. It was downright chilly that morning, but of course in the thick of the runners were a couple dudes completely shirtless, jogging in little more than short shorts.

"You idiots," I thought to myself. "I bet you're freezing your little --" WHAM.

That was the precise moment when I got rear-ended by the car behind me. I have a feeling he was staring at and probably mocking the same dudes I was. My car was less dented than the front of his truck, but this was clearly karma telling me that my days of being mean and judgemental towards people with active lifestyles were probably over.

Except maybe for one last thing. Before I swear off mocking the exercise set forever, can we just talk about ONE thing real quick? Can we just, maybe if only for a quick second, talk about... SPIN CLASSES?

Now, I'm new to gym life and I'm sure these classes are wonderful. I've never stepped foot inside a spin class, but there's a room for it at the YMCA. I've never caught more than a stolen glance inside it -- mostly because they keep it super dark in there with disco lights flying around. Maybe there's WAY more to it than what I've seen. Maybe it's magically fun and amazing and awesome.

But from what I've glimpsed, it's basically a room full of exercise bikes, and you pedal them REALLY fast. Like, fleeing-a-crime-scene fast. Certainly faster than I'm capable of. And the whole time, beats are thumping, disco lights are flying, and there's a miked-up instructor screaming over the whole thing. I can't ever tell if the teachers are super motivational, super excited, or super mean. From outside the classroom, it's basically like listening to Charlie Brown's teacher, if Charlie Brown's teacher consumed WAY too much coffee that morning. 

I'm sure it's great fun, so please don't write me mean letters. But I know I couldn't handle the pace or the yelling -- and above all else, I certainly couldn't handle the music, which is usually the worst type of aggressively-caffeinated European techno imaginable. This makes sense, because whenever I hear music THAT insipidly obnoxious, my first instinct is to pedal as fast and far away from it as humanly possible. Maybe the people in spin class are like hamsters running endlessly on wheels in a futile effort to flee the Vengaboys.

I fear I may never know anything more about spin class, because me and the other chubsters give that room a wiiiiiide berth when we're at the YMCA. It is for svelte, sadistically healthy people and it frankly scares the rest of us. We don't even dare look in that direction. Honestly, if you were a nefarious group of evil-doers and needed a hideout to plan your evil-doing, you should do it in a spin class -- I promise you, none of us will ever bother you in there. Oh, and once you finally commit your evil-doing, you could probably just pedal quickly away with your toned physiques while the rest of us wheeze and high-five each other for walking a half-mile on a treadmill without vomiting.

I want to hate on spin class for pages and pages, but I can't. The people in there look like they're having fun. Well, some of them. The rest look like they're actively dying, but that's exercise for ya. It's sort of like wee tiny episodes of torture that are good for you. I'm sure spin class is a hoot. Just don't mind me while I look the other way, slip in my earpods, and listen to WAY better music.