On Tuesday I was like a mom machine. I was planning meals, grocery shopping, returning library books, parent-teacher conferencing, folding ginormous piles of laundry, running errands. It was so beautiful I get teary just thinking about it.
I even went to a spin class that night after preparing a delicious Korean beef bowl for my family, which every single one of them ate. Just thinking about it. Tears in my eyes.
The spin class. What can I say? It was a cadence spin class, which basically means YOU ARE EXPECTED TO PEDAL TO THE TEMPO. And if you're unfortunate enough to be on the front row, Our Great Spin Master will do things like focus on you with laser precision and pat his knee to help you keep time.
Except that keeping time is not my problem. Keeping time to the tempo of 1,232 BEATS PER MINUTE is my problem. It's that my limbs are not designed to go in large circles at that pace. I don 't care if Our Great Spin Master can do it! I don't even care that Suzy from my neighborhood can do it. I know my body, and it doesn't do that.
But let's just deal with the most insulting part, because I'm being asked to de-socket my legs to the dulcet strains of light country or smooth easy jazz. This is not a joke.
I realize this guy doesn't care what I think of his cadence or his laser eyes. He doesn't care what I think of biking to the love scene from Miami Vice background music. This guy could bike from Los Angeles to New York City in the time it takes to play a couple of Kenny G albums. Without breaking a sweat.
But when I get up the next morning expecting sore legs and instead have a sore behind? Not going back.
If you're wondering why I didn't do a blog post on Wednesday, it's because I had an achievement hangover, which is something I'm having to accept about myself. Generally it's one achievement day to one hangover day, but because of Our Great Spin Master and his diabolically exacting standards, I'm only pulling myself out of it this morning.
I even went to a spin class that night after preparing a delicious Korean beef bowl for my family, which every single one of them ate. Just thinking about it. Tears in my eyes.
The spin class. What can I say? It was a cadence spin class, which basically means YOU ARE EXPECTED TO PEDAL TO THE TEMPO. And if you're unfortunate enough to be on the front row, Our Great Spin Master will do things like focus on you with laser precision and pat his knee to help you keep time.
Except that keeping time is not my problem. Keeping time to the tempo of 1,232 BEATS PER MINUTE is my problem. It's that my limbs are not designed to go in large circles at that pace. I don 't care if Our Great Spin Master can do it! I don't even care that Suzy from my neighborhood can do it. I know my body, and it doesn't do that.
But let's just deal with the most insulting part, because I'm being asked to de-socket my legs to the dulcet strains of light country or smooth easy jazz. This is not a joke.
I realize this guy doesn't care what I think of his cadence or his laser eyes. He doesn't care what I think of biking to the love scene from Miami Vice background music. This guy could bike from Los Angeles to New York City in the time it takes to play a couple of Kenny G albums. Without breaking a sweat.
But when I get up the next morning expecting sore legs and instead have a sore behind? Not going back.
If you're wondering why I didn't do a blog post on Wednesday, it's because I had an achievement hangover, which is something I'm having to accept about myself. Generally it's one achievement day to one hangover day, but because of Our Great Spin Master and his diabolically exacting standards, I'm only pulling myself out of it this morning.
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| "That's his leg," I whisper to you from my blog. |
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