Spin Class

I started doing spin class a few weeks ago on Mondays. On week number one, I was pretty certain that the Aquatic Center was going to have to call in a surgeon to physically remove the bike seat from my butt... at least that's what I hoped they would do. I don't think I could have outlived the humiliation of a life-light trip with a spin bike sticking out of ye ol' canister. Would have been an awesome visual for the northern part of the Wasatch Range as we flew over though.

On week number two, I was overcome with feelings of strong regret that Chris Farley never lived to see the whole 'Spin Revolution' take place. There is not a doubt in my mind that he could have come up with a wonderful skit that would forever memorialize the true meaning of a fat guy sitting on something more akin to a weapon that an actual seat.

Ooh! even better - Spin Class, the movie! That would've been awesome! I can close my eyes and picture it now... twenty bikes, an incredibly ripped instructor, nineteen "class members" who look as though they were plucked straight from the Tour-de-France, and Chris Farley... the little fat guy who could. That would make my day.

Getting back to reality however. I used to spend an inordinate amount of time on a bike. My bike was the only mode of travel I had for the full two years I spent in Japan. At one point in time, I could go for 30 to 40 miles in a day without breaking a sweat (or significantly increasing the length of the Southern Divide at any rate). All that being said, I don't remember my bike seat ever feeling like a 90-year-old bony fist. Every time the spin instructor yelled, "Out of the saddle!" I wanted to scream, "Tell the saddle to get out of me, and I'll be more than happy to get out of it!"

Oh well. I shouldn't complain. I did this to myself. It's probably a written law of physics somewhere:

"The comfort associated with the feel of a bicycle seat on one's butt is inversely proportional to the ratio of the size of said butt to the size of said seat."

In other words, I'm confident that this is just one of the natural consequences of putting your weight north of the three-bill mark. When you've spent as much time riding a Lazy Boy as I have in the last couple of decades, anything smaller is bound to be uncomfortable.

Hmm. I wonder if anyone has ever thought of making a bike seat that could comfortably help someone like me back into the sport of biking?

Nahhh. Probably not.

Has This Ever Happened to You?

A fair amount of time has passed since the following event occured. It has only been recently that I feel confident enough to post it. What that means, in short terms, is that what you are about to read is one of the more embarrassing things that has happened to me recently.

A couple of nights a week I try to go swimming (and yes, I wear a shirt as well as swim trunks). It is generally later at night that I go because I recognize that I'm slow in the water and I don't want to hold anyone up. At night, there are more lanes open and fewer people trying to use them.

Anyway, I went a little earlier than I normally do and swam as hard as I could for as long as I could. I wound up going about 750 yards in a 2o minute period of time which for me, was good! Well, I walked off to the shower room feeling pretty good about myself.

Now, in order for you to understand the rest of the story, you need to undersatnd the layout of the exercise facility I attend. There are three locker rooms: the men's room, the women's room, and a family room that has lockable changing-slash-shower rooms. Late at night, when there are no families there, I like to go to the family room so that I can have a locked, shower all to myself.

Now, getting back to my story - I went about my business, showered off and cleaned up so that I my wife wouldn't have to sleep next to a chlorine bomb all night. I stepped out of the shower feeling pretty good about myself when all of the sudden, the fire alarm went off.

Let me pause and ask you a question real quick: It's roughly 9:15 at night, about 34 degrees F outside, you're 315 lbs of buck naked and a fire alarm is going off - what do you do? Let me tell you what I did. I proceeded to set a land-speed record for the fattest-slash-fastest towel and dress job in the world. If the Guiness people had been there, I'm certain I would have had my picture placed in their book!

All that being said, it still wasn't fast enough... about a minute and a half after the alarm went off, I heard someone coming down the row of shower rooms and opening all the doors to make sure they were clear. I could hear them coming closer. Finally, the handle on my door moved, and then frantically jiggled, at which point, the following exchange occured:

Female Voice (FV): Is there somebody in there?!

Me: (thinking... then saying) Yes?

FV: There's a fire alarm going off!

Me: I know! (starting to put sweat pants on)

FV: You gotta get out of there!

Me: (looking down at the parts that are NOT covered yet) No!

FV: (with urgency) But there's a FIRE ALARM going off!!

Me: (Just as urgent) I promise - you DO NOT want me to come out of this room, right now! (sweat pants on, going for the shirt while simultaneously throwing a bunch of soaking wet laundry into my gym bag).

FV: What if there's a fire?!

Me: THEN I WILL BURN!!

There was a slight pause in the conversation as I am sure that the woman speaking to me through the door was good and ready to let me die. It was just enough time for me to get my shirt on, open the door, apologize and walk bare foot out into the foyer of the building.

As the building was not on fire, I proceeded to sit down in the foyer and finish putting my shoes and sockes on. About the same time I finished, the rest of the facility staff finished herding us out the door into the cold. It was at that point that I realized that it could have been a lot worse. I could have been just getting into the pool when the alarm went off, which is where I would have been if I hadn't gone a little earlier that night.

Needless to say, for as embarrassing as the whole event was to me, I'm certain it may have been worse for the poor girl who had to get me out of the locker room.