And Roll it Down...

I went to my first spinning class today!

I was stupidly nervous before going, as the last class I took resulted in humiliation and a downward shame spiral. I am not particularly good with being pushed too hard -- rather than motivating me, it tends to fill me with ultra-anxiety and make me retreat into my little shell. I'm someone who likes to work out on her own, and the last time I worked out with a traineer I threw up and then cried and then never went back. So, yes, I was afraid. But I registered last night with a sheer determination to try new things for the new year.

I arrived 20 minutes early. The studio was hot as hell, and I began to wonder if it was a bad sign that I was sweating before my class even began. I notified the girl at the desk that I was appropriately fearful and she laughed (nicely, not like an evil jackal) and told me I had nothing to worry about.

Fine. I got ready and watched the end of the evidently professional class before me (hah?). There was sweat flying everywhere. Ew.

In any case, when it ended, the very sweet instructor led me and a few other newbies to our bikes, helped us to get set up, and the fun began. Okay. Spinning is awesome. We did first position (hands in the middle!), second position (hands at the curves!), third position (hands at the ends, ass off the seat!), standing, jumping, increasing tension, sprinting, etc., etc. It was painful and my legs and ass are feeling the burn even an hour later (and will no doubt be all the worse off tomorrow), but it ruled.

More than anything, I was amazed that I could make it through the class. I'm ashamed to admit it, but there was a time when something far less would have me utterly wiped out. I was so unhealthy and out of shape a year ago, and I feel like I'm a totally different person now. I never in a million years thought that I would ever enjoy being active (even though it hurts my ass). I prefer this edition of me.

In the meantime, my boytoy is embracing street hockey.

He's taken up with a rogue gang of aging (aged? hah) boys who like to play on Sundays. The first time he went, he was flat-out half dead upon his return and vowed to start going to the gym to build up his cardio. He was ultra-pleased to announce today that he was able to play for a full two hours, scored a few goals, was fought over as a goalie by both teams, and saved a penalty shot or something like that. Yeah, I was half listening. The main thing is, he's enjoying himself.

In any case, I'm so pleased that we both have fun new activity things going on. I feel like we're getting healthier, and that is pretty darn good for the long-term.