I Just Got Hot & Sweaty With Three Chicks

I just spent over an hour straining and sweating with a group of beautiful, athletic women. And it was free (first time 'test drive' deal).

And now I'm pretty sure I won't walk right tomorrow.

My friend Jennifer talked me into checking out Spin Class, which I feared would be a lot like riding my trainer at home. But riding at home, I just try to keep moving, get distracted enough by a movie to get through an hour. At Spin Class, there's an instructor, or drill sergeant or whatever you want to call her, telling you about how you're riding across the 24 mile bridge that spans Lake Pontchartrain.

And she makes you crank hard for five minutes and then gives you two minutes to do what I do the whole time left to my own devices. And I was doing my best to keep up. About twenty minutes in my right hamstring started to rebel, by a half hour both legs were in open revolt and I had to leave to refill my water bottle and stretch.

I fell of the bike and into the brackish waters of Lake Pontchartrain, but I got out, got back on the bike and toughed it out to the finish. Though when she was telling us to stand on it and really crank, I was just trying to keep moving without cramping up again.

Then we did fifteen minutes of yoga, which is more stretching that I probably did all riding season last year.

Could I work that hard at home? Not unless some chicks come over and watch me. No way I'd push myself hard enough, on my own, to cramp up my hamstrings. And if I did, by some miracle, manage that, I'd decide that was the sign to knock off for the day. In private, I can let myself be the guy who couldn't hack it after a half hour, in a group, especially a group with a large estrogen surplus, I get back on and do my best to pretend I'm not a big fat 40 year old guy.

In fact, I think knowing I've got Spin Class coming up is likely to make me more diligent about my half-assed workouts on the trainer: train at home to look less out of shape training at the gym. Plus, riding my trainer at home, I don't have to endure Lady Gaga or Metallica.