Oh mein gott in himmel, y'all. I went to the spinning class this morning.
Okay, there is no polite way to say this, so here it is: my crotch hurts. (Crotch is okay, right? My ma always used that word, even when we were kids, so I tend to think it's fine for polite society. Sorry if I'm wrong about that.) Yes, it was hard and no, I couldn't do everything the instructor shouted out to us during the course of the 45 minutes and yes, I sweated like a whore working overtime (hey look: it's not all polite society around here after all) but the real takeaway here is that my crotch freaking aches. In a way that really shouldn't happen unless you have great memories of a terrific time to show for the pain, you know?
Owwww. See, when people say "bike butt" they don't ever tell you what I am telling you: they don't mean bike butt, they mean bike crotch. Which is to say: bruised crotch. Man, buy a girl a drink first, jeez.
So that's my first discovery in this endeavor, that grown-up bikes do not feature a banana seat, and there is a price to be paid for that lack. And the currency in which you must pay is Pain. My dilemma is this: there is another class tomorrow. Do I go? Or do I nurse my wounds? (Try not to picture said nursing, thanks.) Is there some kind of very thick adult diaper that could possibly help me out here?
Oh well, I guess this is the incentive to get your knee/leg muscles all strong - so you can stand up in the pedals and get out of the infernal seat. INFERNAL, I TELL YOU. And the workout itself was just strength-sapping. I immediately wanted a nap. Well, a nap and many, many, many carbs. I could've eaten my way through a loaf of Wonder bread and asked for more before passing out for a 6-hour nap. Honest to pete, it's like it ate through all my energy stores. And I store a lot of energy, okay.
In recent developments, I am getting freaked out at how little time I have to get myself up to the task of 100 miles. I looked at the training schedule from the fall century ride -- oh hey, they call this a century ride. Because 100 miles. And probably because it feels like a century, the ride. Anyway, the training schedule for the last century ride shows that your first day out on the bike, you do like 20 miles. Twenty. As in a two followed by a zero. Your first time on the real bike, and it's 20 whole miles. I'm not saying I can't do it; I'm just saying that a mere 40 minutes on the bike felt semi-miraculous today. Twenty miles seems awfully far-fetched. Unless these training coaches are willing to spend the full 10 hours it's likely to take me to go 20 flipping miles, it could be a pretty awful day. And so I am freshly afraid.
Anyhows, that's how my first spinning class was. Painful, exhausting, and a bringer of fresh terror. Ooh boy I just can't wait for the next!
(that was sarcasm.)
Dude seriously, I gotta go to bed now. That class just vampire-sucked all the energy out of me. So good night, and thank you for your support, and pray that I'll make it to and through tomorrow's class.