Saturday, February 12, 2011

Spinning Out of Control

     When I delivered our first child, I tore terribly. The doctor tried to put me back together as best she could- but something went wrong. I was in constant and excruciating pain any time I moved or was touched. I had three procedures to attempt to rectify the injury, but to no avail. It wasn't until I gave birth to our son (19 hellish months after our daughter) that I had reconstructive surgery. I finally healed. Thankfully, I am no longer in unending and unbearable pain. I am, however, slightly more sensitive in my nether region than most women (lol- well I am assuming since I have never really felt any other woman's bottom.)

     Now, the reason I have shared this incredibly personal information is because it transitions into yet another humiliating experience.

     I signed up for a weekly spinning class. I wanted to try something new, something challenging, something that would help me get prettier legs. I signed myself up, dropped the kids off at my in-laws, and got ready for chiseled calves. For those of you not in the know- as I myself once was- let me provide you with a 'Spinning Class Disclaimer"
1- You must be a minimum of 5'4" tall to reach the pedals (guess who is an inch too short)
2-You absolutely must love cycling to shitty 80s music (did I just hear "Jesse's Girl?")
3-You need to enjoy sitting on a rock solid, tiny bike seat made of varnished petrified wood that wedges itself right up your ass. This last part is vital to spinning class- apparently you are not loosing weight unless you are painfully uncomfortable.

     Had I known that the full weight of my body would be resting on my super sensitive bottom, which was resting on a seat made out of rusty nails, I never would have attempted such a class. 25 minutes into the lesson ("My Sharona" Really?) I was in tears. Not because of the exertion, not because of the awful tunes blaring in my ears, but because of the pain in my bottom. Why was I tempting fate? Why was I putting myself in a position to re-injure my delivery wound? I stopped pedaling, stood up, and looked around the dimly lit room. I didn't know any of these people; they couldn't possibly know how defeated I felt. I gathered my stuff and left the gym with my head high and the word to "Whip It" fading in the back round. I drove to GT Boutique to grab a Pepsi and a 3 Musketeers chocolate bar (it has 45% less fat- I managed not to totally self- destruct lol) and three workout DVDs and went home to play with my kids.

     It is now two days later and my lady bits are still sore. I'm not sorry or embarrassed that I didn't finish a single spinning class. I'm glad that I tried something new. Maybe a weekly power yoga class is more my style...regardless, I'm still on track and feeling like a better version of myself.

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