It all began at 5:00 am this morning – a sweaty, ridiculous HOT EFFING MESS.
As of Monday afternoon, I am officially a member of the Central Florida YMCA! After crazed and desperate searching for a gym (with the patient help of the BBE) I finally settled on a YMCA facility about 10 minutes from my house. I’m super excited about this because
a) they were able to offer me a discount
b) it’s not a huge corporate gym warehouse place where I’ll feel lost in the shuffle
c) I can go to ANY Central Florida Y, including 2 that are located near work
d) they offer a bad-ass spin class, my new exercise torture of choice.
Yesterday afternoon I sat down and took a look at the class schedule to figure out times that I could go before after work, what appealed to me, etc. I settled on taking spin class at 5:30 am on Wednesdays and Fridays.
Yes, you read that correctly: 5 -effin’ thiry in the morning. Eastern time, before the roosters and chickens.
In a very sick sick way I was excited about it – it’s been almost 2 weeks since I’d stopped working out at RDV, and with the exception of a workout or two at home with the BBE, I’d been a slacker. I needed to get back on the wagon ASAP before my momentum was gone. So Wednesday AM my sorry as was dragging all the way to the Y, determined to sweat off the cheese dip, sausage balls and cocktails from a recent party.
As I was walking in, there was a pleasant but quiet-looking woman walking in behind me. I politely held the door open for her and smiled nicely.
FOOL!! I was informed she was the spin instructor. 10 minutes after holding the door open for her in a gesture of goodwill, she was whipped my sorry behind into miserable shape and made me question every brownie, cupcake and vodka cocktail I’d ever consumed over the past 10 years… those caloric goodies along with ANYTHING else that I’d done to myself to lead me to her class was up for questioning. While it’s great to work hard, I just coudl not keep up with her pace no matter how hard I pedaled. I whimpered and cried through 25 minutes of her hoarse drill sargeant shouting and ramping up the intensity before my body called it quits for me.
I have NEVER quit an exercise class before. EVER. What’s even funnier is the fact that I wasn’t the first person in the group to quietly pack her belongings and hustle out of the spin studio like a whipped dog with her tail between her legs. She worked us so hard that my bike cushion that I bring with me – which is cinched on the bike with a tight strap – completely fell off from the rapid movements of my ass and desperately pedalling legs. When I finally found the will to scamper out of there my legs were still so amped up from that horrid class that I propelled myself hips first down the hall like I was on fire or had to pee really really bad. I couldn’t stop myself from walking away! The subconscious part of my brain had taken over was removing from the imminent threat of finishing spin class.
I spent the next 20 minutes doing a weight machine circuit before heading to the locker rooms to shower and change. Did the mishaps end there? Hell to the no!
I ran into one of other people from the class, who’d actually made it all the way through. She told me that each instructor was different, and that particular instructor does tend to push too hard, but it’s important to go at my own pace. She recommended the guy teaching the class on Friday morning, and I promised to give it another go on Friday. Feeling slightly better, I picked up my toiletires and headed to the shower.
This is how my shower experience went:
- Shower #1: I got partially undressed – pants, shoes, socks – before I noticed that the spigot on the shower head was broken. So I wrapped my towel around my waist and shuffled into the stall next door to try again.
- Shower #2: I got ALL THE WAY undressed – shirt, sports bra, dignity – and turned on the shower when I noticed that the hand held shower head didn’t have a hook to hang it from. No problem… I was fine with holding it in my hand… until I turned it on and three little ice cold sprinkles came out. I held it for a few minutes but nothing but ice cold water trickled out. So I gathered my stuff, flopped my towel over my front parts and crab-legged it across the way to ANOTHER shower stall, hoping that no one would walk behind me and see my naked-as-a-jaybird butt cheeks.
- Shower #3: The curtain wouldn’t completely shut flush to the wall, but I stopped caring. It was quite likely that anyone that had wanted to had already seen my hindquarters at this point.
DOES ANY OF THIS SOUND FAMILIAR? Yes, this has happened to me before: reference https://reneemynette.wordpress.com/2011/09/09/locker-room-fail/ also known as The Time I Saw A Stranger’s Ass And Almost Showed Mine.
On the flip side, two of the Y staff personally sought me out to introduce themselves because I looked new, and the facility is so great! It’s so close to home and really feels like a community center. I’m excited about trying more new stuff and making a fool out of myself in the process. I have a feeling that the YMCA will be a source of a great deal of story material for me.
My New Policy: Do not hold the door open at the Y for anyone again. Seriously.