Everyone knows I hate working out. Its seems stupid to me, and as one great philosopher once said “I’m not tryna be the best at exercising”. But anyways, my mom’s been bugging me (shocking) about how I need to start exercising, telling me that one day I’m going to be shocked when I wake up weighing 400 pounds. First off, the fact that I wake up in general is shocking. And in terms of the 400 pound thing, there are kids in Africa who would kill to wake up tomorrow weighing that much, so pretty insensitive statement if you ask me.
Despite being right like always, I decided to tickle my parents’ fancies this weekend, and tagged along to their weekly spin class (yea, we’re that white). Admittedly, I was a bit nervous heading into the class. I hadn’t done anything physical in months, and I knew a 6pm spin class on a Friday would be full of psychos. Who gets out of work on a Friday and thinks, “Oh riding a bike for an hour straight as fast as I can will be a nice way to unwind from the week.” I’m sorry, was the group suicide class already full? If I wanted to put put that much effort into something that never makes any progress forward, I would have just been a feminist.
Spin class was created by the same people who consistently got their bikes stolen as kids. They finally had enough one day, and were just like, “fuck it, bring the bike inside and put it on a stand. I’d like to see Jamal take my bike now”. (Jamal is a white kid in that story, and also a girl, so you’re the racist for thinking otherwise.)
Anyway, I walk in, and the instructor is already there, looking like she shops at the “I teach a spin class” store. If you googled “spin teacher”, she’ll probably be the first image. Also, a spin instructor might be the most bullshit job out there. You can be a spin teacher, and literally not know how to ride a bike. That’s like being a truck driver and not knowing how to drive, or a cop not knowing how to shoot a black kid.
So I get on my bike (after having to adjust it completely to fit my dancer legs), and the class starts. What happened next is something that I never could have prepared for. Next thing I know, the teacher cuts off all of the lights, plugs in her iPhone, and just starts blaring EDM music. All of a sudden the Quincy YMCA turned into Tomorrowland. So I just start spinning, mostly out of fear, peddling my petite little body off, slowly going deaf, waiting for her to toss on a Deadmau helmet. I think at one point the old lady next to be popped MDMA,
This was possibly the worst environment to perform physical activity in human history. It was actually very similar to a bar, without any of the fun aspects. Like if I wanted to listen to music that’s too loud, while being surrounded by a bunch of sweaty people I don’t like, I would have just went to Ned Devine’s.
Also, something needs to be done about the bike seat. As if going to a spin class wasn’t sexually ambiguous enough, now I have to play a game of “just the tip” every time I want to sit down on the bike. If I wanted to sit on something big and black while drenched in sweat, I’d, I’m not going to finish that joke.
Now, as someone who hadn’t done any physical activity in months, and also hates everything about this spin class, you probably thought I struggled, maybe gave up halfway through, and mailed it in. Oh no. You are horribly wrong, because make no mistake, I absolutely murdered this class.
First off, apparently you’re supposed to start a low gear, and incrementally move up. Nope not me. I went straight to the highest gear right away, and stayed there for the duration of the class (I couldn’t figure out how to change gears). Everyone knows I have one speed, and that’s game speed. My bike gear was up so high it put up more resistance than Matt Lauer’s intern. Naturally, I ended up crushing everyone else in the class, and crushed a casual 18 miles. But I’m not here to brag. I’m just here to tell everyone in my life that I was right and you were wrong, because when everyone doubted my diet and lifestyle, it finally paid off.
Prior to the class, I thought it was going to be a complete disaster. The thing is, I somehow forgot that I have been viciously carbo-loading for years. Little did I know that with every bowl of plain pasta, every walk to Dominos, every bread stick, I was slowing preparing for this moment. I was sitting on a mountain of stored energy, and I didn’t even know it.
I thought my body would be shocked by the workout, and the sudden outburst of energy, but honestly, it was probably more of a pleasant surprise. Usually on Friday nights at 6pm, I’m cracking open my first Loko of the night, so an hour on a bike wasn’t anything my body couldn’t handle.
It’s just nice to know that I’m still a freak of nature, athletically, and that my dominate high school basketball career that consisted of 2 points and 2 rebounds a game was just the beginning.
So overall, yea, working out still sucks, but at least I can sit on the couch all day knowing that I’m not missing out on anything good, and that I still succeed at anything I try. Finally, a win for us tall white guys.