YMC YAY

Guess who made it through her first ever spin class? Yeah the whole hour! All by herself with no help from paramedics? Yep me. Yay I did it, I rock!

And I wobble; when I got off the bike. But as Richard Simmons is my witness I did not cry… where anybody could see me.

I pedaled and pumped and persevered through sixty minutes of a thigh straining, calf building, cardio workout that made me regret every extra calorie I’d ever eaten and even ever read about.

So after a good long warm up of adding resistance and speed to the bike, when the instructor barked, “Out of those seats, let’s go, pedal faster,” I stood. With my feet strapped in I got up off the seat and pushed those pedals, with all my might.

Wait!... What? Holy crap, what’s that warm feeling? Did I just? NO!

I sat back on the tiny bike seat. Nothing wet, false alarm. I stood on the pedals again. What the? Oh! The warm feeling was the blood rushing back into my, shall we say, junk. Seems those tiny seats restrict the circulation at the South Pole a bit.

It’s now been 29 hours since I completed my first ever spinning class and my girl parts are still stinging.

And my thighs are really pissed.

I need a massage. My poor legs are so sore they deserve it. Hm, what should I use?

Funny thing: The site of me rubbing my own thighs with KY warming massage oil didn’t exactly turn my husband on. Maybe if I replaced the heating pad with a bear skin rug, the bottle of Advil with Cabernet and the tattered tee shirt with a silky nighty, I’d have better luck.