Ow, you guys! My ass! Seriously.
All South Park jokes aside, my bum really does hurt. My legs creak. My lungs burn. Why? Because exercise is the Devil, kids. Just a little tip from your Aunt Kris.
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So last night I decided to try yet another new class at my gym: spinning. In case you’ve never heard of it, spinning basically consists of a bunch of people pedalling furiously on stationary bikes while a little blond ponytailed twig-person screams at them over really loud dance music. Or something. I figured it wouldn’t be too difficult, seeing as how the only other person there at first was this old guy. Remembering the Aqua-Robics experience (old people = nice and leisurely workout), I figured this would be a cake-walk. Until I saw him lacing up his special Nike pedalling shoes. I must’ve looked scared, because Little Old Guy (L.O.G.) told me not to worry, that he was just a “poser” and that I wouldn’t have any trouble. He was a damn liar.
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The first thing I realized when I jumped on my bike was that, unlike regular bicycles, you can’t stop pedaling while the wheels are turning. The pedals are literally connected to the wheels, so once you start it’s really, really hard to stop. Bravely, though, I placed my water bottle in the holder and my towel over the handlebars and started to pedal. I managed to keep up for the first 20 minutes, until “Shannon” (the twig-person) introduced the concept of standing up and pedaling, as if one were riding up a hill. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH THAT KILLS? I was dying. Eventually I collapsed onto my seat, having made a bargain with my body that I’d at least continue to pedal as long as I didn’t throw up all over my nice new Reeboks. Wearily, I looked over to L.O.G., who’s standing up and pedaling away like Lance friggin’ Armstrong or something! I think that’s when I first got the urge to cry. The end eventually came, but not before a lot of mental cursing of “Shannon” and L.O.G. I’ve never been so happy to get off a bike in my entire life.
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The worst part of the whole thing is that I still feel like crap today. It’s as if the spinning somehow fundamentally altered my body on a genetic level. Or else my body got pissed off at its perceived punishment and is now paying me back. Regardless, my calves are sore, my ankles are weak, and my bum is still shaped like that damn bicycle seat. Never, ever spin, kids.
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