When you sign up to take a cycling class, you don’t expect it to be easy.
When you sign up to take a cycling class and you are out of shape, you expect it to be down right hard. You anticipate that you are going to have certain problems.
Specifically, you know your legs are going to burn. You expect that at some point you might find it difficult to breathe. You are not entirely surprised when you find yourself fighting the urge to vomit. And, if you’ve had a couple of kids, you are shamefully prepared for the tiny bits of pee that threaten to leak from you every time your instructor insists you stand up and pedal at the same time.
I was not going into my new cycling class completely unaware.
Or so I thought.
Of course, there was no way I could have anticipated the seventh circle of hell that is a bicycle seat against my ass.
Oh. My. God.
I couldn’t even think about the burning in my legs. Within three seconds of plopping my behind on that seat and starting to pedal, I felt certain that a deep, purple bruise was developing on my perineum.
Oh, yes. My perineum.
Not my vagina. Not my buttocks. But the small space in between them that I had been blissfully unaware of before 5:30 on Tuesday night. It was like a small angry dwarf with a metal baseball bat was pummeling me between my legs.
I spent the entire time from 5:30 to 6:00 looking around the room, trying to figure out why no one else seemed to be suffering from in between your private parts violence. A few people were breathing heavy. Everyone was definitely sweating. But no one was shifting uncomfortably and lifting their asses off their seats for brief moments of relief.
It was, I was convinced, the longest 30 minutes of my mud flap’s life.
And then, the moment I’d been waiting for. 6:00pm. 30 minutes into my 30 minute class.
I turned to my friend Samantha, “we’re almost done!” I wheezed.
“I know. And now it’s going to get worse.”
“No, no. Nothing is worse than this,” I insisted.
“Oh no, you watch. This song is winding down and when the next song starts it means we start a whole new set and it’s just going to get worse.”
“The next song? Sam, it’s 6:05. We’re done! It’s over!”
“Yeah, that set,” she looked at me with obvious confusion between gasps for air.
“But… we’re done. It’s been 35 minutes now.”
I heard the music change and a brand new 80s pop song start up on the stereo system. I looked at the front of the class and saw the instructor take a swig of water, and then lean back over the handlebars of her stationary bike.
“Sam, why isn’t she getting off the bike? Why isn’t she telling us to get off the bike?” my perineum pain was temporarily forgotten as the panic started to rise up. “Why isn’t she telling me I’m done!?!?!”
“I told you it was going to get worse…”
“Sam!” I was desperate now. “It’s time! We’re done. I made it 30 minutes. I survived those last ten on nothing but sheer will. Why in the hell are we all still going?!”
“It’s an hour class, Britt,” Sam was speaking slowly and I could see she was still confused by my panic.
I damn near fell off that cocksucking bike.
“What?!?! What the hell did you just say to me?!?!”
“The class is an hour.”
“No! No it’s not! It’s a 30 minute class. Who the hell would sign up for an hour of cycling?!?!”
Now it was Sam’s turn to lean over her handlebars. She dropped her head between her elbows and started to laugh. She was laughing! Between gulps of air and a desperate attempt to stay in rhythm, she was trying not to fall of her bike laughing.
I felt like someone had just stolen my winning lottery ticket. Or told me it was Wednesday at 9am and not Friday at 5. After I had my coat on and my first happy hour drink ordered.
I think I should be commended on the fact that I did not hop off the bike right then and there and running screaming for an ice pack. I should be extra commended on the fact that I did not pee, or vomit, or rub my crotch in desperation for the next 30 minutes.
I think that makes up for the fact that I’m writing this while sitting on a bag of frozen peas.
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Posted in Dignity Is Overrated - Funny and Embarrassing Stories Tagged: bicycle seat, cycling class, dying in an excercise class, excercise, fitness, getting in shape, spinning, things we do to try to torture ourselves in the name of vanity and fitness
However, between etiquette and a comfortable booty, I’d pick the happy booty every time! lol
Miss Britt Reply:
March 4th, 2009 at 6:52 am
@avitable, they really should make those signs bigger.
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suzanne bettilyon Reply:
February 10th, 2010 at 3:21 pm
@Miss Britt, i was like wtf this is ASSanine this is ridiculASS, it hurt so bad The workout which was hell on earth, was nothing compared to the pain in the twat bones. im determined to do it so im going back for more, with lots of padding. your article cracked me up lol
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