Spinning Class

Yesterday, Tony and I took our first Spinning class together. I'm a veteran of Spinning (not to look at me, but I swear I've gone to Spinning before) but Tony was a rookie. I managed to talk him into it with promises of burning more than 1,000 calories in an hour and that there would be other men in this class, unlike Zumba. (Don't worry, I've never tried to talk Tony into Zumba. I understand and respect the limits of our relationship.)

Everything was going great, too. We woke up on time, ate our breakfast and were to the gym in plenty of time to claim a bike and start warming up. Then, our instructor arrived. Let's call her Chesty LaRue. (Keep in mind, I've only ever had male instructors for my Spinning classes. Cleavage wasn't really an issue.)

Chesty was dressed modestly enough when she arrived (late). Long-sleeved shirt, cropped sweatpants (a trend I'll never understand - if it is cold enough for sweatpants, don't you want your shins warm, too?), Ugg boots. I was willing to forgive her for the Uggs if she was a good instructor. Then, moments before we started riding in earnest, she whipped off the outer layer to reveal hotpants and a bikini top. I've never seen a sports bra that small. For a moment, I thought we'd wandered into Stripperobics instead of Group Cycle.

Tony looked at me with bug eyes. I'm sure he was thinking this was the best fitness class he would ever attend. I didn't have the heart to tell him they were going to shut the lights off in a minute and unless Busty McGee's breast implants glowed under the black lights, he wouldn't get the show he was anticipating. His disappointment was palpable.

However, like many women who wear bikini tops and hot pants indoors, Boobs McClanahan's personality didn't improve when the lights were off. (I realize that makes me sound like I've been in the dark with a lot of scantily clad women. I'm not above pandering to increase my readership, people.) For the next hour, we were subjected to her shouting motivational-poster aphorisms:

"It's up to you to decide what your personal best is!" (Mine is not falling off the bike and yarfing on myself.)

"Everyone's feeling alive now!" (If by alive, you mean half dead, I've never felt this alive!)

"What if I told you that you were stronger now than when you walked in here? Scientific fact!" (I'm just wondering where she got her biology degree? Hooters U?)

And my personal favorite, "Dance on that bike - everything's a dance party to me!" Shocking.

Somewhat worse than the shouting was the flat, off-key singing. Every time a new song would come on the sound system, Tatas O'Shea would pick out several key phrases to shout-sing along with. It was kind of like being at a church service where the choir sings and the pastor shouts out their lines about a half-beat too late. "Knockers McGillicutty's 9:15 Bon Jovi Worship service!"

All that being said, she put together a good workout. I fell off that bike at the end of the hour with wobbly legs, a red face and sheets of sweat running off me. Tony crawled off to the locker room in even worse shape. Hours later, I asked if he would ever come back to another class and he said he would.

I'm just not sure if it would be for the workout or the boobs.