By Kristin McCarthy of Four Princesses and the Cheese

I’ve been lobbing a few miles on the treadmill a few days a week and I don’t think I have lost a single pound.  It’s probably due to the fact that when I start to feel the burn, I slow down because I suck at exercise. I am one of those women who needs the pressure of a class and a room full of eyeballs to get their ass in gear. I suggested to one of my trusted mom friends that we try a spin class.  She was pumped!  You see, she is no spin virgin; hence, she knew what she was signing up for.

Me, not so much.

I figured I could handle an hour of stationary bike riding, no problem. How hard could it be to just keep pedaling?  People go on hour-long bike rides all the time and those excursions have hills!  They don’t die.  I’ve been a runner, I’ve hot yoga-ed, and Zumba-ed, and even did a Pilates class one summer. I can totally be a spin class diva.

So I ran a few miles this morning, cleaned the carpets, did the grocery shopping, laundry, vacuuming, and practiced for the talent show with my seven-year-old. Then I went to spin class with my girlfriend.  

Right when I entered the cycling room, I knew I was royally fucked.  The instructor clearly follows a strict diet of speed and caffeine.  She was ready to ROCK!  She excitedly told the class that every other song would have a “bounce.” Because I had no frame of reference for what was about to go down, I thought nothing of this.

We all started pedaling away as the music blared and the instructor mouthed the words and bopped along to the songs like she was heading up the next big boy band.  Then the bouncing began…

We pedaled standing and rocked back and forth, pressing our arms down as if we were doing push ups…on a bike…with hella resistance…at full speed.  Just when I thought I might die, she let us release the resistance and take a breather.  She literally meant slam your water and take a single breath, you little bitches!  And right back at it we were.

This went on for an hour.  All the while I kept thinking to myself something is seriously wrong with the height of my bike.  It has to be too high.  Even though the instructor kindly adjusted it for me prior to trying to kill me with her bouncy bullshit, she must have made a gross error because with every bounce, the bike seat slammed into my poor va-jay-jay.  

Half way through the routine, I wasn’t even sure I could feel my poor lady parts anymore.  I kid you not, I haven’t been rammed like that since college.  I don’t even think I’ll be able to wear shorts all week since there is no way I am not bruised to shit down there.  There is a one hundred percent chance that I will be driving though the car line tomorrow, sitting on a giant ice pack and wearing an adult diaper.  Wowzers.

When she announced that there were two songs left, I knew I was going to make it.  My mind shifted from wondering if I should stop at the supermarket on my way home to buy adult diapers to wondering if I could find a sprinkler system running in the neighborhood that I could stop my car at and stand in.  

We finished the last two songs and I knew that this would not be my one and only spin class.  I am definitely hooked on this sick torture and am already looking forward to the next one.  Aside from the the Ed Sheeran song she played, Shape of You, that I hate with the intensity of one thousand suns, I would say tonight’s first spin class was a major success, numb vagina and all.

Side note:  Apologies to my husband whose car I took to class.  My guess is that it will be smelling like sweaty vagina for a few days.

This post was originally published on Four Princesses and the Cheese.

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About the Author

SAHM mom of four little blonde girls ages 8, 6 and identical twin 2 year olds. Lover of cheese, craft beer, top knots and BRAVO. Hate of Thomas the Train, Caillou and laundry. You can find Kristin and her little Blonde-tourage hanging out at popular Suburban hot spots like the local Target and Home Depot. Kristin is the cynical mind behind www.fourprincessesandthecheese.com. Kristin is also a regular contributing writer for Suburban Misfit Mom.