Nearing closer to death than I would like.

An attempt was taken on my life yesterday. No, really. I mean it. The angels of death were upon me. Knocking at my door and dragging me home. You should have been there, really. It was horrible. Let me go back a bit…

Due to the extra chubby state I am in. No, not Utah, sillies. My hefer-ific body. And remember I weaned my baby, so diet and exercise is a must. Right? Well, I bought myself a gym pass. Only to the local little rec center. But it will do. (Note to self: don’t swim here. I think that many a person passes this off as their “weekly bath.” Ew.)

At any rate, my friend Jenny has been coming with me. She sweetly said, “Hey, lets try the spinning class.” “Okay,” I say. Ignorantly passing this off as, “that might be fun.” Fun? FUN? Really? Yeah, right.

Let me remind you that I am not a biker. I bought a bike in college and promptly fell off of it around the second ride. I can ride, but I’m not real good at it. After the great fall of ’95, into a ditch, I think I parked my bike for a very long time. Peter was the next to ride it, and has since gone the way of the world. Not only do I fall off of bikes, they hurt my bum. I mean really, I don’t know why. I have A LOT of padding, but it really hurts.

So, Friday morning. Off, we go. Sure, this will be fun. First, onto the “saddle,” so they say. “Eeek. Ouch.” (And why do they call it a saddle anyway? Saddles are big. And comfy. And made to be ridden in for long periods of time. Not like these sorry excuses for a metal bar to sit on. It’s a bike seat, not a saddle.) But then the fun really took off.

“Moderate hill.” (huff, huff, huff)

“Now Climb. Tighten it three gears. Now stay there. Give me 80 RPM.” (that’s your foot going around on the pedal 80 times in one minute. HA! Yeah right. How ‘bout 40?)

"Okay, now out of the saddle and give me all you’ve got!" (all I’ve got was left laying on the side of the road about two miles back – lady!)

"Now bring it back to a flat road. Good. Now let’s go back to a moderate hill… "

And so the hour went. Mile after mile.

Good heavens, all mighty. Someone help me. Please. Save me from the doors of death.

As I am huffing, and grunting and squealing in pain, I look back to Jenn. I give the, “what in the heck were you thinking” look. She throws me a big grin. I do see sweat, but I’m pretty sure I have lost a few gallons of water, and her only a couple drops.

All I can think is, “When do we get to coast? When is the downhill part?” Apparently, this is not part of the “spinning” class. Next time I invent a new class, we’re goin’ downhill baby. All the way!

p.s. The teacher said we rode about 15 miles. I think more like 10 for me. I had to take a break now and then. And of course, if this were real life, the whole class would have left me in the dust. But quite honestly, I think ten miles is more than I have ever ridden, at one time, in my whole life.