So, I went to my first spin class in about five years this morning with the thought of just moving my legs. I need to try to get the blood flowing and work out some of the kinks that remain after Saturday's marathon. The result? I was kind of bored.
This is not a good thing, as I am really counting on building off of my summer of awesome bike rides and keeping the fun going all winter with some spin classes. However, I just couldn't get into it. Of course, part of the problem could have been that I wasn't getting into it. I mean, I wasn't lifting my bottom off the saddle when called for. I wasn't sprinting past that imaginary rider in the distance. I wasn't climbing Mt. Everest on demand. About all I was doing was rotating my legs round and round and round. Occasionally, I would stop my rotation to stretch out the backs of my legs a bit. (They got really tight during the run Saturday.) And, the only butt lifting I did was to ease the pressure because it was sore!
So, spinning, spinning, spinning. About five minutes into the class I noticed that things felt pretty good. Ten minutes into this class I tried to pick up my cadence to at least get it to 90 RPMs. By 15 minutes into the class my mind started to wander. At about 20 minutes into the class I recognized that I was bored. By 25 minutes into the class I recognized that my butt had been sore for about 15 minutes and I still had 20 more minutes to go! Ugh.
Anyway, I made it through the class, such as it was for me. As everyone dismounted, I noticed that there were exactly THREE bikes in the class that had somewhat cushy-looking seats, kind of like my road bike at home. The three lucky riders of those fine pillows of comfort hadn't been balancing on the knife's edge of hell like the rest of us. Upon questioning a fellow spinner how one rates one of those seats, I learned that I needed to get their early. So, to that end, for the sake of my "end" I think next time I will get there about a half hour early to stake out my seat. All's fair in love and spin class, right?
Maybe by then, I will feel ready to tackle those imaginary hills and sprinters. Or maybe I will just revisit the rowing machine in my basement. Decisions, decisions.