Spinning. It ain't for wimps.
On January 2, my friend Julia invited me to a spinning class that she goes to regularly. I sat on that bike and I loved it, right from go. I have been going once a week, on Saturdays, ever since. However, I lucked out at Josh's school's fun fair recently, when I noticed that the spinning gym (which is a local business) had donated a one month pass for the silent auction. I kept my eye on that prize, until 5 seconds remaining, then I ran like the wind to write my name on the sheet and the pass, she was mine. $70 for unlimited spinning? Well, classes are usually $22 each, so I say yes please! But then life got so busy, I hardly had any time to go. And as much as I wanted to go in the daytime, finding care for Jacob is tough. My neighbour, who also has a baby Jacob's age, has agreed to swap baby care so that we can both get out and do stuff without the wee ones in tow, but I always feel guilty asking her to take my baby. I feel like it's rough enough with one, how can I possibly ask for two?
But then I look at myself in the mirror and I see the baby weight that I so desperately want to get rid of, so I get my ass out of bed at 6:30 a.m. and I go to the 7 a.m. class while Damien is home and can mind the kids. It's hard. It's hard to get out of bed, especially when you've had a night of interrupted sleep, and it's hard to haul yourself to a gym, especially when you've given up coffee with the hope that no more caffeinated breast milk will mean a better sleep for the baby (and for the rest of us, by extension) but it's the most hard when you actually get to the class and the hyper-turbo-energy-ball that is the instructor hops up on the bike up front and encourages you to pedal with everything you have while 50 pounds of tension on the wheel resist your efforts (how was that for a run-on sentence?)
While I am there, I hate spinning. I curse it and think evil thoughts about it and tell myself that I'm going to quit. But when I finish another class, I feel like such a champion, so strong and motivated and energized, and that's just the little bit that I need to go back again the next time.
And somehow, bit by bit, my body is returning...
But then I look at myself in the mirror and I see the baby weight that I so desperately want to get rid of, so I get my ass out of bed at 6:30 a.m. and I go to the 7 a.m. class while Damien is home and can mind the kids. It's hard. It's hard to get out of bed, especially when you've had a night of interrupted sleep, and it's hard to haul yourself to a gym, especially when you've given up coffee with the hope that no more caffeinated breast milk will mean a better sleep for the baby (and for the rest of us, by extension) but it's the most hard when you actually get to the class and the hyper-turbo-energy-ball that is the instructor hops up on the bike up front and encourages you to pedal with everything you have while 50 pounds of tension on the wheel resist your efforts (how was that for a run-on sentence?)
While I am there, I hate spinning. I curse it and think evil thoughts about it and tell myself that I'm going to quit. But when I finish another class, I feel like such a champion, so strong and motivated and energized, and that's just the little bit that I need to go back again the next time.
And somehow, bit by bit, my body is returning...