Spinning- it's the hot new workout along with zumba and others with equally confusing names. I mean let's be honest- all it is is stationary biking, so why don't we just eliminate the confusion and call it "stationary biking"? Whatever, it is what it is. I guess the wheel spins so there is some logic behind the title.
Anyways, my recent obtaining of a free three-day all-access pass to 24 Hour Fitness made me feel obligated to spend as much time as my protesting body would allow. I decided to try out different classes each of the three days. People back at the yoga studio where I worked in Los Angeles always raved about spinning being the best thing since, well, yoga and insisted that since I was a runner it would come naturally to me. Wrong.
Spinning also happens to be another sport that makes participants loathe the dictatorial nature of the instructor. I mean, what is a fitness class if not a dictatorship? One power hungry individual sits before the masses demanding that they perform certain physical feats. Worse yet is when their power-hungry ego feeds on the suffering students and the yelling starts. "Push harder! Come ON! Feel the burn!" The only other place comments like that fill the air waves is in maternity wards. And I don't like to compare my workout classes to my perception of the birthing experience.
The most obnoxious part to my already panting, irritated and sweaty self was the instructors describing which part of the imaginary hill we were supposedly biking on. I consider myself not lapsed in the ability to use my imagination like a wide-eyed child, but somehow when I am already gasping for air and told to really push myself while climbing this last hill, the desire to imagine aforementioned hill is replaced with the desire to imagine I'm on a beach chair in Hawaii somewhere. So while the rest of the dedicated students who actually paid for their memberships did, indeed, push themselves up the hill, I turned my bike around, lowered my resistance all the way and coasted down to treat myself to a coffee at the imaginary Starbuck's at the bottom.
Anyways, my recent obtaining of a free three-day all-access pass to 24 Hour Fitness made me feel obligated to spend as much time as my protesting body would allow. I decided to try out different classes each of the three days. People back at the yoga studio where I worked in Los Angeles always raved about spinning being the best thing since, well, yoga and insisted that since I was a runner it would come naturally to me. Wrong.
Spinning also happens to be another sport that makes participants loathe the dictatorial nature of the instructor. I mean, what is a fitness class if not a dictatorship? One power hungry individual sits before the masses demanding that they perform certain physical feats. Worse yet is when their power-hungry ego feeds on the suffering students and the yelling starts. "Push harder! Come ON! Feel the burn!" The only other place comments like that fill the air waves is in maternity wards. And I don't like to compare my workout classes to my perception of the birthing experience.
The most obnoxious part to my already panting, irritated and sweaty self was the instructors describing which part of the imaginary hill we were supposedly biking on. I consider myself not lapsed in the ability to use my imagination like a wide-eyed child, but somehow when I am already gasping for air and told to really push myself while climbing this last hill, the desire to imagine aforementioned hill is replaced with the desire to imagine I'm on a beach chair in Hawaii somewhere. So while the rest of the dedicated students who actually paid for their memberships did, indeed, push themselves up the hill, I turned my bike around, lowered my resistance all the way and coasted down to treat myself to a coffee at the imaginary Starbuck's at the bottom.
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