House of Pain

spin class

I was originally going to tack this onto the end of my football post, but as a special treat for my dozen or so readers this is now a whole extra post! Lucky you…

We pick things up the day after the match, with a fairly civilised breakfast – no Fear & Loathing style hotel room behaviour here. At this point it was mainly flesh wounds – cuts, scrapes, lost limbs, etc – rather than the deeper muscle aches which usually takes 24 hours to kick in. Easy street.

Having endured a morning’s light abuse whilst working from our Manchester office, and getting through a fairly knackering three hour drive home down the M6, I thought I would relax by heading to the gym with my wife for a nice gentle session on the stationary bike, with a bit of time for stretching and warming down in the pool. Or that was the plan…

Realising I had not been on the regular indoor bikes since before the summer, things just did not quite feel right and I could not get the settings I liked or comfortable with the pedals. The next thing I knew I was being tractor-beamed into an RPM Cycle class next door, like some sort of unsuspecting fly sleepwalking into a spider’s web, my brain far to tired to tell my dumb-ass body to get out. This was a new class for me, but having been to plenty of others this year how much tougher could it be?

Turns out a lot. The trainer turned out to have been sent from the planet Mean, to punish us all for our previous life sins: her first words into the microphone were along the lines of “You guys are going to pay for this so much tomorrow” followed by a maniacal laugh like Ozzy’s at the beginning of Crazy Train. Bearing in mind this was the first thing I had ever heard this woman utter I assumed it was just banter, but the rest of the blokes in the room looked slightly terrified, and it turned out she really was crazy.

As there were new releases due for the class this weekend, she put on what she described as a selection of her ‘favourite’ (read: painful) tracks. One involved an eight minute ‘endurance interval sprint’, a phrase which seemed to be something of a dichotomy given that sprints are supposed to involve short intense bursts and the other long steady pedals. It turned out you could do this, any yes, I did pay for it the next day…

During the sprints and steeper climbs the instructor kept doing these intense stares, fixing eye contact in a way that meant you did not dare turn away or slow down in case she came over and gave you an ass kicking. And these stretches seemed to last far longer than normal songs. By the time the hour was up I literally had to hobble away from the bike.

By the way, from the way I have written this you might assume it was awful. Au contraire mon frere: As someone spending most of this year doing a 4000 km virtual race across half a continent I absolutely loved it, and despite the pain I will undoubtedly feel tomorrow morning, I am sure I will be back again for more punishment next week!

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