The first week of May, I was on a mission. I was going to use this month to get in shape for the summer. So I signed up at the local YMCA.
I had a free session with a personal trainer, who, after sizing me up a bit dubiously, was more committed to my goal than I was. The "Six Months to a New You" worksheet in his hand had all of the exercises needed to make a Titan out of me. The first thing he did was slash the "Six Months" part. "This doesn't apply to you. We don't have six months. We don't even have six weeks. Well, let's get started, shall we?"
I gulped, and pushed back the little voice of doubt in the back of my mind. "Let's do this."
I had a free session with a personal trainer, who, after sizing me up a bit dubiously, was more committed to my goal than I was. The "Six Months to a New You" worksheet in his hand had all of the exercises needed to make a Titan out of me. The first thing he did was slash the "Six Months" part. "This doesn't apply to you. We don't have six months. We don't even have six weeks. Well, let's get started, shall we?"
I gulped, and pushed back the little voice of doubt in the back of my mind. "Let's do this."
After showing me various strengthening exercises, he led me down the steps toward the group fitness rooms. "Have you ever taken a cycling class?" he asked, glancing back to me as we neared the last step. "Nope."
"Today's your lucky day," he pronounced, ushering me into a room full of overzealous, sweating women, whose butts bobbed in unison. "Everyone, this is Marie." The instructor serenely welcomed me while my PT showed me a stationary bike in the corner near the door. "Just do whatever she tells you. Come back up when you're done."
And then he left me.
I started pedaling, trying to imitate the other riders. A minute or so in, the teacher kindly addressed me through the mirror that ran the length of the room, "Have you ever been to a spin class?" "Nope." I admitted, feeling a bit out of my element. A bit taken aback, she assured me that I would do fine, and just do what I was comfortable with.
I started pedaling, trying to imitate the other riders. A minute or so in, the teacher kindly addressed me through the mirror that ran the length of the room, "Have you ever been to a spin class?" "Nope." I admitted, feeling a bit out of my element. A bit taken aback, she assured me that I would do fine, and just do what I was comfortable with.
I still had my PT's challenge ringing in my ears, to "Do whatever she tells you." Minutes later, we were instructed that there are three different kinds of positions when riding. The first (the only I have ever done) is the "resting" position, where your butt rests firmly on the seat. The second is kind of a squatting position, with your arms outstretched, supported by the handlebars.The third is a standing position, with your hands gripping the parallel handlebar.
Our challenge was to move quickly from one position to another, always maintaining control. Well, control was what I didn't have. And as we transitioned from position #2 to #3, I lost it. I had about two seconds of "control" and then my legs gave out entirely. It was as if my entire lower body just disappeared.
This would not have been so bad, had my feet not been strapped onto the pedals. With my feet still spinning in circles, my legs bobbed uselessly (and painfully), my sunken knees grazing the pedals and the bike. I struggled to regain control for what seemed like an eternity, until I was able to forcefully pull myself up by the handlebars. I was rankled and exhausted, however my fiasco was somehow unobserved by the other die-hard spinners.
I persevered. I maintained the "resting" position for the rest of the hour-long class, determined perhaps not to finish well, but at least to finish. We steadily climbed hills, raced downhill at mach-speed, and were congratulated at the end for a "good ride."
Will I ever take up cycling? Perhaps, someday. Now that the swelling and bruising has faded on my knees, my pride is also healing. But, for now, I know that cycling just isn't for me.
Our challenge was to move quickly from one position to another, always maintaining control. Well, control was what I didn't have. And as we transitioned from position #2 to #3, I lost it. I had about two seconds of "control" and then my legs gave out entirely. It was as if my entire lower body just disappeared.
This would not have been so bad, had my feet not been strapped onto the pedals. With my feet still spinning in circles, my legs bobbed uselessly (and painfully), my sunken knees grazing the pedals and the bike. I struggled to regain control for what seemed like an eternity, until I was able to forcefully pull myself up by the handlebars. I was rankled and exhausted, however my fiasco was somehow unobserved by the other die-hard spinners.
I persevered. I maintained the "resting" position for the rest of the hour-long class, determined perhaps not to finish well, but at least to finish. We steadily climbed hills, raced downhill at mach-speed, and were congratulated at the end for a "good ride."
Will I ever take up cycling? Perhaps, someday. Now that the swelling and bruising has faded on my knees, my pride is also healing. But, for now, I know that cycling just isn't for me.
This is so rich, Marie! I'm glad you can see the humor in the situation and point out the humor to the rest of us as well, as painful and fearful as it was getting outside your comfort zone. I admire your endurance.
ReplyDeleteFitness trainers are a cast of characters all their own. It reminds me of the time I walked into Anytime Fitness and subjected myself to an intense interview by a buff guy who looked like a television super-hero stepped out of The Incredibles. You know, large head, no neck, short, stubby arms, bursting with muscle, and a broad chest that looked like the top of a V and his waist the tiny point at the bottom of the V. After looking at me, he said, "Come into my office, Christina" and what followed was a series of probing questions. "What's your stress level like everyday, scale of 1-10? When was the last time you felt really good about your physical fitness? How many sodas do you drink a day?..." Etc. etc. And his sitting there grinning at me the whole time was enough to make anyone uncomfortable.
Needless to say, I never returned. Especially when I discovered that normal looking people worked out at the YMCA, a much more suitable place for me.
The best, most descriptive part of this was: "'Today's your lucky day,' he pronounced, ushering me into a room full of overzealous, sweating women, whose butts bobbed in unison."
ReplyDeleteHeeheeehee :0)