Disclaimer: This column has nothing to do with this week's theme. It's also not in my usual list format. I'm only assuming you care because, if you're reading this, you're probably somehow related to me and thus expect me to justify myself in exchange for paying my tuition. So, sorry, love ya, moving on
I've never liked trying new things. Apparently this makes me stubborn, close-minded, boring and borderline infantile. Well, that seems a little harsh. Maybe I was just a precocious wunderkind who found out what she liked at an earlier stage than you did and stuck to it. In that case, I'm discerning, clever, loyal and borderline awesome. But people insist on the first characterization (because people are the worst), so I'm constantly pressured to be more "adventurous." Okay, Mom, I'm sorry, but eating an artichoke for the first time can only be considered an "adventure" if you're a brussel sprout being terrorized on the herbivore playground with cannibalism as your only means of revenge. (Veggie Tales can still impact you in your 20s. It's fine.) Alas, haters gon' hate and there's nothing to be done I should just move on with my plan to never stray from my plan. That'd be the brave thing to do. But I'm an only child with a pathological need for acceptance. So when my friends kept telling me I had to go spinning, I bit the spandex-clad bullet and spun. Idiot.
I tricked myself into thinking I was excited for this bold new endeavor, mostly by putting it in my iCal two weeks in advance (in purple font!) and consciously changing the heading from "spinning?!?!what." to "SPINNING!" I woke up the day-of nauseous with anticipation (and Four Loko remnants) and blitzed my three housemates individually, double checking that everyone was still planning on going.
"It's at 6:35 right? How early do I get there? Do I pre-spin? Do I need to reserve a bike? What happens if I don't like it? Does the door lock? Should I be hydrating?" To which each responded, "Uh-huh. I'll see you there." (Need three for coddling.)
Fine. I could do it on my own. Just gotta grab my LiveStrong bracelet and I'll be ready to spin what ma mama gave me. (Spoiler alert! Mama gave me the following: a keen sense of abandonment, an acute anxiety disorder, a lack of inner strength, a lack of actual strength and a proclivity for quitting.)
When I arrived at class, the energy seemed positive enough some leisurely spinning and chatting, a bit of casual stretching, nothing too unfamiliar. I approached two of my friends (the ones who initially convinced me to come to class because the pain was "SO WORTH IT") and they kindly pointed me to the towels. But, as I turn around, I saw them scampering out of the room. I ran after them, panic-stricken, about to blackout from all the middle school memories flooding back to me.
"WHERE ARE YOU GOINGGGG?" (Extra consonants meant to reflect desperation.)
"Oh, um, we we changed our minds. We're gonna run. Or elliptical. Or, um, go to Collis. I mean we spun three weeks ago legs not back yet we just can't. But you'll love it! Sorryhavefunbyeeeee." (Extra vowels meant to reflect vicious ill will.)
As the door closed behind them, my remaining friend pulled me back, reminding me she was still there for moral support and promising to stick with me "every step of the way." Okay, I remind myself, I can do this.
I got on the bike with a newfound (read: forced) enthusiasm, prepared to conquer the world. Then the lights shut off. And the music started. And apparently the "every step of the way" ended there, as my friend put in her headphones and ignored me from that point on. I was suddenly alone and scared in a dark room with one-beat techno blaring and a tiny woman shouting incoherent things at me. (Literally, at me I found out later that my seat was at the wrong height, the handlebars were at the wrong length and I had absolutely no resistance on the bike.) I desperately grab my friend looking for answers:
"HOW IS EVERYONE UNDERSTANDING WHAT SHE'S SAYING?! IS HER MOUTH JUST MOVING WITHOUT SOUND COMING OUT?! WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THIS KNOB?! CAN SHE USE SOME SORT OF HAND GESTURES?! WHAT'S A LIGHT HILL?!' I DON'T SEE SETTINGS FOR THAT!!!"
"Yeah, you got it!"
I was confused. I was scared. My only recourse was to gaze longingly out the window and watch the rest of the fitness community go about their evening workouts. (Assuming I could somehow see them without them seeing me was the only way I survived.) How I longed to be that girl on the elliptical, producing nary a bead of sweat as she poured her energy into reading about the Swiftenhaal split. (HOW DARE YOU JAKE?! She was so happy.) I ached to remember what it was to feel joy. And to hear music with words and a melody.
And then suddenly, light! The techno was shut off (or I'd gone deaf. Didn't care). I felt like crying (and realized I had been a little). It was over. I was free. I hadn't been that relieved since Brit released "Circus."
Moral: Never try new things. (Sorry, Biebs, sometimes you do have to say "never.") I'm certainly not going to anymore. Except potentially some new friends, a new chiropractor and a new appreciation for The Boy in the Plastic Bubble. Catchya in the comfort zone, kids. There won't be bikes.
