You spin me right round baby

Spinning....

Sounds like a fun hobby. Maybe involving a group of elderly women, a pot of tea and some balls of wool.

Apparently it is quite far removed from anything remotely related to such a pleasant event.

As I recently discovered.

A new work friend kindly invited me along to try out her spin class.
Always up for a new opportunity I said sure why not.
Maybe I should have enquired a bit more about what it entailed but nothing ventured nothing gained.

Despite having a gym downstairs, I actually don't own any workout gear here in Toronto so on the rare occasion I darken the Gym's door I am in somekind of 'Outfit' compiled of my Pjs and Bobbi's cast offs.

So there I was the night before my Spin date in a wild panic running up and down Yonge St trying to find some shorts/leggings.
I ended up in a Asian Tourist Souvenir shop where, without trying them on, I hurriedly purchased what I assumed were normal, basic black sports leggings.

My delightful friends came round for dinner later that evening and as I slaved over a hot stove cooking them a tasty dinner I heard peals of uncontrollable laughter as they mocked my new trousers.

'Hey Caoim...

Ha ha ah...

wher..ah.e did you buy those leggings?!'


Now I'm not sure how one can make a plain pair of black leggings so hilarious looking but they could barely breath. They begged me not to wear them in public or ever again for that matter. So I ended up having to go in my normal under dress leggings.

I needn't have worried nobody could see me anyway. As we approached the SpinStudio I could hear thumping tunes and presumed we were walking by some undergroup hard core club, but no this was it.

On first impressions I thought we had entered a sadists' torture lair. In the near pitch dark basement I could just about make out the forms of what looked like assembly line workers trying to generate electricity on a dynamo bike.

Their supervisor was bellowing at the steaming, sweating pouring oxen who were belting away on their machines like there was no tomorrow.

Gulp is all that went through my mind.

Glasping my water bottle and towel in the hopes it would boost my spin street cred we queued with the masses to get a bike. I had butterflies and a feeling of imminent regret.
So we hopped on, after some minor adjustments and encouragement from my spin buddy our master took to his stage. The flashing coloured light began and the tunes started blaring.
His head piece mic amplified his ordersPUSH IT, DO IT, give it everything you got, FINISH IT!

Well approxiamately 3 mins in I realised there had been a terrible mistake and my new friend had mistaken me for someone who was not only incredibly fit but got a kick out of corporal punishment.
After 3 and half minutes my knees started to buckle as we pushed our way through the 'FIRST EVEREST'. Good Lord, I had to pretend I was 'hydrating' and took a seat back on the saddle to try and help my trembling and spasming legs recoup to push on through the entire Himalayas.

Sweating profusely in the roasting dark underground with a dark silhouette shouting orders at you I got a pretty clear indication of what hell is like!

Despite my initial falter, I actually picked up enough to finish the whole class and was gratefully rewarded with a glass of Chilean Red and some chicken Nachos. So on the upside it balanced itself out!

I'm sure it is no coincidence that hell is shaped like a bicycle wheel!!