THE INNER WORKINGS...

how to crash a stationary bike

Mr. Burland didn't teach me a lot in life, but he did teach me one thing: in Spanish, words don't start with the letter "s". I mean, they do, because I have a friend named Sofia, and that clearly starts with an "s"... but there's some sort of rule, which I'm sure Mr. Burland could explain to you, where an "s" followed by a consonant at the beginning of a word is just not allowed. Or something like that. But Mr. Burland's not here (fortunately, because that would be sort of creepy if my Freshman Spanish teacher and I continued hanging out), and so you'll have to just trust me on this one. So, because of this somewhat suspect Spanish rule, here in Argentina we quench our thirst with "Esprite", watch Charlie Brown and "Esnoopy" (which is my Mom's personal favorite), and every Tuesday and Thursday I go to "Espinning".

I was coaxed into taking this spinning class at the beginning of the year. This is not because I woke up one morning dreaming of riding alongside Lance Armstrong, hair flowing in the wind, neon bike shorts gleaming in the sun. It's just because a friend of mine was teaching the class, and well, we all know I could use a bit more exercise. Now I'm no stranger to bicycles. In fact, I'm sure some anecdotes about my daily choice of transportation will soon be coming to a blog post near you . But stationary bikes... well, they're just a whole different animal.

This particular Thursday in question, there were only four of us in the class. Four students, nine bikes... a good ratio. We started the class without a hitch... warm up pedaling slowly, then stand up on the bike and... a strange noise. My teacher, Agus, hears it and asks me if I'd like to try another bike. She smiles and tells me that sometimes the bikes act up, to not feel bad, and simply choose from the other bikes in the room. So quickly, as to not get out of the pedaling groove I had worked hard to attain, I hopped off the incriminating bike and looked quickly for one where the seat wasn't too high, wasn't too low... but was just right. I hopped on the just-right-height-seat bike in the front row, and started pedaling again. Agus, being the task-master that she is, told us to put more resistance on the bikes, and so I turned the tiny little lever - the bane of my weary muscles twice a week - so I would have to pedal harder. I pushed the lever down a few notches, and much to my chagrin, it popped right back up. So I tried it again, thinking I hadn't pushed hard enough... and once again, the lever didn't hold. I sheepishly chuckled, wondering how I managed to pick not one, but  two defective bikes in the room to use. Looking up and meeting Agus' gaze, I wondered if she'd think I was faking. It seemed a bit suspect, I admitted, to have chosen the two malfunctioning bikes in the room. But once again, I was met with a smile and a suggestion to switch bikes. Cracking a joke about promising to behave better - because we all know it's better to be laughed with than at - I found a third empty bike. At this point in the story, you might be able to predict what happened next. And yes, it happened. I begin to pedal sitting down (the seat was quite a bit too low, but I wasn't about to complain), and as I stand up to pedal... "boom". The entire pedal came off. And in that very moment, it was confirmed that yes, I was indeed one of "those people" to whom "those sort of things" happen.  Agus came over, with a concerned sort of laughter, and asked if I was alright. I assured her that I was, but that evidently today wasn't a good day for stationary bikes. Nor for uncoordinated North American girls trying to ride stationary bikes. I picked up the pedal, hung it over the handle bar and conceded defeat.

And now you know, my friends, how exactly to make an impression in your next class of "espinning".

posted by Courtney @ 12:38 AM