Intro to Spin (Alternate Title: I'm sorry, Lucas)

Dave Ramsey often advises people who are struggling with finances to 'do what rich reople to do' when it comes to maintaining healthy spending habits. To clarify this point, he explains, "Look, if you want to be skinny, you do what skinny people do. If you want to be fat, you do what fat people do". Dave uses this quote a lot in his seminars and podcasts. As a fat person myself, I never took too kindly to the analogy, but the point is valid nevertheless. I mean, I suppose other fat people have intense, complicated relationships with potatoes....and elaborate desserts with foreign names...and Indian food. On some level, though, I always thought I was a product of bad genes, not bad habits. Don't get me wrong, my genetics are definitely not in my favor; my grandfather's nickname was "Fats". But what I've learned through this process is that biology is not determinism; my health is a product of personal choices. It also means that my relationship with Jersey Fitness will have to be a lifelong commitment if I wish to avoid ballooning up to 250 again.

After several months of fumbling my way through Zumba, I started asking myself, "Alright, the momentum is good, but I should do more. What would a skinny person do? I bet a skinny person would probably do all those other group classes, too". As I mentioned in the previous blog, whenever I used to think about classes like Spin, Pilates, or Yoga, I would wave them off claiming that "Those are exercises that only skinny people can do". This is complete nonsense, but it allowed me to justify not going and that worked for me. Until it didn't. Until I found myself in Zumba class frustrated as hell for not being able to keep up with everyone else. Because of that class, I realized I needed to be doing more.


I know how stupid this looks in print, but I really am determined to dance the crap out of that class. There are women in my Zumba class who have crazy fit bodies. Now, the cynic in me used to roll my eyes in their direction and think something particularly snarky against their impossible-to-attain physiques; however, after connecting with the class as a whole I now look at these other women (and Scott) and I think about the amount of strength, discipline, and sheer determination they have to be healthy at any age. And by any age, I mean any age. There are women in their forties, fifties, and sixties who can out-booty pop me any Friday of the month. At first I found them kind of endearing in that "Aw, look at the old girls go!" kind of way. Now it's kinda starting to piss me off (not seriously though)! I want my moves to look that effortless and this is currently not the case. Don't get me wrong, I have a very good time and any one of my classmates will tell you that I will boldly venture into some pretty un-Christian dance move territory. But I've got these 80 lbs that I carry with me to every. single. workout. These 80 lbs are my dance partner in Zumba, they're invisible chains that pull me down when I go running, and they tip me over in yoga like I'm a cow in Elmer on a Saturday night. In short, they gotta go.

Enter Spin class. Spin. See, right here let me tell you the first thing you need to know about Spin class: It has its own language and I'm calling it Spinnish. Perhaps you're like me and when you hear the word "spin" you conjure up childhood memories of actually spinning, around and around, until you fall backwards into bubbles or a field of daisies. In the World of Fitness, or Jersey Fitness these days, Spinning translates to sitting on a stationary bike in a small, dark room with black lights, a strand or two of Christmas lights, and a wall covering depicting the sunset over a lake while the dulcet tunes of Flo Rida pound through your ear drums. I appreciate the fact that the low lighting and fast music are trying to give the class a kind of clubbish atmosphere; however the sad truth of the matter is this: that room could be Studio 54 and your bikini line would still feel like it was being sledgehammered by that freakin' bike seat.

 Clearly the idea of Spin class initially had no appeal to me whatsoever. If I didn't have that stupid Dave Ramsey mantra "Do what skinny people do" running through my head, I would never ever have taken a Spin class for the rest of my predominantly unhealthy life. But that fat-ist quote kept nagging at me until I told myself that perhaps if I went to Spin long enough, I could learn to love it. I've been Spinning now for a couple of months and while I wouldn't say we're in the honeymoon stage of our relationship, I actually do look forward to my classes each week. Even the 5AM classes (sort of). I love what they represent more than anything. I love that my determination to attend these classes trumps my personal insecurity over Spinning with about a half dozen triathletes in attendance. The first time I stripped off my top shirt and biked in my tank, with my arms bare for the first time ever in a public setting, I nearly cried at that small feat of personal triumph (only Chrissy could ever have me pedaling so hard that in the battle of sweat versus body insecurities, sweat would win out).

Back to Spinnish. When I went to my first Spin class, I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. I didn't know how to adjust any part of the bike and I certainly didn't know that attending a Spin class meant learning another language. When I found out that the instructor, Lucas, was a man, I had zero intention of asking him questions. Lucas is a great guy and an awesome instructor, but there was no way, on that first day, that I was going to ask for his help to "adjust" my form on the bike. A person's figure on a stationary bike is pretty unforgiving, especially when that figure is so full that it was busting out of its brand new bike shorts, flowy shirt, and non-sports bra. Think bike wench. When Lucas asked if anyone was new, I made it a point to avoid direct eye contact. There was no way on God's green earth that I was going to ask him to examine the placement of my hips or legs in front of the rest of my Spin class. **Potential Spinners, when you go to your first class, make sure you let them know you're new. No one else in the class will judge you, and your unnecessary insecurity may cost you a pulled lower back as it did me.**

When Lucas got the class pedaling and the black lights were turned on, everything seemed to happen all at once. I kept hearing him shout out things like "Stay at One!" "Up to two!" "Down to three!" I thought he was just counting us down until I looked around and saw people actually moving into different positions on their bikes. Luckily my friend Valerie was there to serve as a translator for me. This was particularly helpful when, halfway through the class, after Lucas kept repeatedly shouting "If you can't get on that beat, you're too heavy on the bike!" I gave a sharp look to Valerie and said (with just a smidge of aggression), "Who the heck does he think he is!? Why does he think "Too Heavy's" on this stupid bike getting her butt all blistered in the first place!? If he says I'm too heavy one more time, I'm about to get off this bike and pedal my foot up his-" Valerie waved me down, "Angie, he doesn't mean you're too heavy for the bike. He's saying your resistance is turned up too heavy for you to get on the beat". You'd think that this correction alone would have humbled me a little bit towards the guy, but not even ten minutes later Lucas called out, "I see too much bouncing. Take that bounce out!" I immediately looked down at my chest which, up until that point, was all but punching me in the face every time we changed positions or jumped (literally using your legs to propel you on and off of the bike seat). Again I turned to Valerie. "I can't stop them from bouncing, Val! I haven't had time to buy a new sports bra yet! I don't even get how that's relevant, anyway!" Valerie quickly explained the Spin concept of centering. Just to be clear, centering is not when you take a break in pedaling to ask yourself existential questions about life. Centering in Spinnish is when only your legs (and not your whole body) pedal. Your body stops bouncing around and you begin to feel as though someone has set your thighs on fire. And, as I found out then, it has nothing to do with unsupported breasts. Sidenote: I warmed up to Lucas after that class. Or I should say, after I realized that he didn't have a personal vendetta against voluptuous fat people. Keep in mind that I was just a tiny bit sensitive and completely nervous about doing Spin for the first time. Also, everything south of my belly button was sore, so someone had to feel the brunt of my wrath.

The second thing you should know about Spin, after learning the lingo, is that you will be sore, and even possibly blistered. I won't insult any of my friends who are mothers by comparing the soreness from that first week of Spin to the pain of labor or post-labor recovery; but at least you broads got ice pack underwear after your exertions. To make matters a bit trickier, my first Spin class was on a Monday and I do two hours of volunteer farm work on Tuesday mornings. I do not recommend crouching over an onion field to pick weeds 15 hours after bouncing around on a bike seat. I learned the hard way that my delayed muscle response is exactly 15 hours after exercising. Every time I knelt down I kept saying over and over "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" I'm not sure how long the soreness lasts. The thing is, by the time your lady parts have adjusted to the seat, you realize that your knees, neck, lower back, and calves have complaints of their own. 

The crazy thing about Spin is that when I'm pumping my legs in that dark, loud room where I'm drenched in sweat and matted hair, my mind completely empties itself. It's the only time during the course of the week when I can actually clear my head and listen solely to my body. I really do try doing this in yoga, but unfortunately (or fortunately) yoga class is when I come up with my best menu plans for the week. It must be a blood flow thing. All I know is this: my Spin classes teach me that my body is capable of greatness. My 5AM Spin classes teach me that my body is capable of greatness on limited supplies of sleep and energy. Pedal on.