Kimra Traynor Herb

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Streets
by
Kimra Traynor Herb
IPS Features

Bruising the tender areas

There are certain phrases that a woman should never have to hear in their lives. One of them is: "Oooooooh, I probably should have mentioned this earlier- it is probably too late now, but you need to be sitting way back on your tailbones so that you don't bruise other tender areas."
And yet....... those were the words I heard coming from the super-buff, ultra-perky spinning instructor about 25 minutes into our first session.
Bruise tender areas?
This whole spinning deal was turning out to be one big torture-fest. When Kathy and I arrived at the class, a good bit of time was initially spent discussing my super short, nub-like arms while the instructor tried to adjust my bike. "I don't believe I've ever seen anyone with arms as short as yours.....this might do it, nope, my, my, those are some short little arms." But if I thought the humiliation was complete, oh, no, I was sorely (sore being the operative word here) mistaken, because it was only just beginning.
You know what? I should have run screaming from the room when the instructor walked into the class. This woman probably weighed no more than 110 pounds; all of it lean, ripped muscle. When others of equally formidable body shape starting taking their places on their bikes (none without the major adjustments necessary to accommodate those with stumpy arms), I should have grabbed Kathy and run for the hills. Instead, I took my seat (not on my tailbone- that instruction had not yet been uttered) and prepared to tough through the workout.
She began by turning out the lights, putting on one of those little microphones- you know, like Brittany Spears wears to sing? on her face, and turning on music at heart-pulsing decibels. After fifteen or so minutes of her enthusing, "PUSH IT," "STAND UP" REALLY SET THOSE LEVELS AT HIGH RESISTANCE" I was sweating like a pig and feeling quite ill. And then she said, "Well, now that we're good and warmed up; let's get started."
What the?
"Kimra!" She shouted into her microphone. "Are you okay?"
"Peachy." I muttered and grabbed onto the handlebars with renewed determination. Next to me, Kathy was pedaling like Lance Armstrong- determined that SHE not be labeled a mere "beginner" and disassociating herself from my slacker ways.
By this time, the instructor was taking us through contortions and pain levels here before never experienced by me. While we were biking (resistance level 7, please) we were swinging our arms, pulsing our biceps (those of them who had them, that is) and shaking our heads.
"Kathy." I hissed.
"What?" Her head was down in her "serious cycler" mode.
"My ponytail is dripping wet."
"So? You're sweating; that 's good!" She cheered.
"Did you forget I don't LIKE to sweat?" I reminded her? It was about at this point that the instructor told us that if we were not sitting on our tailbones, we could probably expect that we would be bruised where no woman wants to be bruised.
Oh. My. God.
Suffice it to say that it was one of the most unpleasant hours of my life. When we finished, dripping with sweat and exhausted (not to mention bruised), Kathy and I fell from our bikes.
"That was the most AWESOME workout!" Kathy said.
"That was the most TERRIBLE workout!" I agreed.
When I got home, I spent the single most unproductive day of my lfie; lying in the hammock in my back yard- the only seat that didn't provide pressure on the unfortunate "bruised areas." Pondering the horror of the day, I had to admit that anything that exhausting could only mean one thing- an excess of calories burned would signify extra desert for the next several days with no weight gain. Now that is a phrase that is music to my ears.