the smell of my desperation has become a stench

Spinning right wrong

Friday I had plans to spend about forty minutes on the elliptical trainer at the gym, something low impact and reasonable since I had really pushed it all week. But then an alien spaceship flew down from the sky, aimed a laser at my head and sucked my brain out through the top of my skull. Leaving me no option other than to join the spin class that had just started. The one being taught by General Patton.

How hard could this possibly be? It’s just a bike! I learned to ride one when I was seven. It had sparkly pink tassels hanging from the handle bars. I often rode it for minutes at a time!

Right. What? No, I hadn’t ever participated in a a spin class. Why would you ask?

My first clue that this might be a bad idea was when I noticed I was not dressed like everyone else in the room. I had on the wrong shoes. My pants did not have butt pads on the back side. Oh, and I was the only one whose legs resembled less a diagram of The Perfect Human Being and more a wet noodle.

Five minutes in and I wanted to die. Five minutes. And we hadn’t even started warming up yet. But if you haven’t yet noticed, I’m a bit of a stickler. I don’t like to start things and not finish them. Often, this is not a good personality trait. This is one of those instances.

Four sets of two minute sprints followed by another six sets of two minute sprints accompanied by a waterfall of sweat so magnificent in size that I almost drown. And then it kept going and going and going, and it stretched out into eternity. In fact, I am still on that bike.

Typing this is difficult with the sweat on my fingers.

An hour and twenty minutes later as we are all contorting our bodies to try and stretch the muscles that have caught fire, the teacher who happens to be my trainer starts laughing and shaking her head. She knows me and my personality and says to the class that she’s impressed that Heather back there made it all the way to the end, especially since she did the whole thing without butt pads! And I go, AHH KNOW! MY WEE WAW! If my groin continues to feel like it does now, NO SEX FOR ME THIS WEEKEND!

HA HA!

HA.

ha.

Oh dear, did I really just say that out loud? In Utah? Because two or three people almost fell off of their bikes. And not because they thought it was funny. Because the wave of AWKWARD shot through the room like a tsunami. I mean, the silence was so painful that I forgot about my groin for a few seconds. And my trainer in an attempt to Make Everything Okay goes HA HA HEATHER IS KIND OF “SPECIAL.”

And that is totally going to be my tagline for next month.

Heather B. Armstrong

Hi. I’m Heather B. Armstrong, and this used to be called mommy blogging. But then they started calling it Influencer Marketing: hashtag ad, hashtag sponsored, hashtag you know you want me to slap your product on my kid and exploit her for millions and millions of dollars. That’s how this shit works. Now? Well… sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

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