a cussin'...

I'm just gonna be honest...certain inappropriate words enter my brain at random and it usually occurs when I'm trying to lift weights at 5 in the morning. But I do my best to hold them in my brain, grit my teeth, squeeze my 6 lb dumbbells and just hope that no one can read them off my lips should they accidentally take flight from the old noggin. Class begins at 5:15am, and it is usually packed out for the hour long class. I know most of the people in there and no one cares if you have on make up or if you have a unibrow (someone should have told me about that but I took care of it). 

I had been sweating for hours it seemed when I found myself pressing my teeth together, half way wanting to bite my tongue so that the sight of dripping blood might, just might get me out of class early. I felt sure that it should be within that last ten minutes of class but one look at the clock and I realized, I wasn't even half way there. DERN ! "Bee" caught me and said, "Val, are you watching the clock?" and I responded in my head, "Hellz-to-da-yea, I wanna make it out alive woman!" But I only verbally spoke "Yes, I am!" and besides, some instructors can't tell time and will run over their allotted time because they don't see tears yet....so lots of times, I'll make an obvious turn around to the clock to draw their attention to it, so they realize they are cutting it close. That happens to not be the case this time. About the time, I had the Elvis lip where one side of the top corner of your mouth involuntarily draws upward, I heard someone shout out "$h**" and drop their weights...it may have been Guest Blogger Brett, but it could have been someone else that was reading my mind...I almost laughed out loud though.

Mr friend "Kitten" came to rescue. When she thought we were wrapping up the 2,354 reps of abs, she jerked her stuff up and started putting her things away. I followed suit. They were down to their last 2 minutes anyway and I really needed to get home and get ready for work. Now, I must endure spin class in the wee hours of the morning and hope the Aleve will keep me moving over the next couple of days. I have been so busy I've been a blog neglector I guess, but hopefully I'll be back on track soon.

The Legendary "Lance Armstrong"

Another great one from Guest Blogger Brett...I will say, a full hour of spin is tough to handle but after that first time-it's much easier. I actually love spin now. The Gym where we go actually offers a 30 min beginner spin now which would have been perfect for Guest Blogger Brett, back in the day, lol.

"...so anyway, I have once again ventured into another realm of a type of morning exercise to challenge my muscle development and increase my cardiovascular training. Has any foolish person, besides myself, ventured into a "spin class"?

It is, exactly as the name would lead you to believe, an hour long, cardio workout that takes place entirely on a stationary bike. Let me first describe the aforementioned bike; it isn't the type you would buy at Wal-Mart, it is solid and everything about it suggests that no expense was spared in its construction. A frame designed and constructed so strongly of some time of alloy metal that a heifer could sit on it and it wouldn't give, the pedals have leather insertions that look like a Roman sandal to keep the foot in place at all times, and the balance of this thing is amazing you couldn't flip it over if you tried and if you did try and it did flip, then you are simply a moron anyway. My being the curious type, and looking for a reason not to do the class, checked this bike out from top to bottom, and well, I found nothing that would give me any reason not to participate, therefore as class was about to begin, and I had already been spotted and couldn't leave, I sat on my little jewel of a bike, "'ol number 10" I will refer to it as for that is the number on the side of my sweet ride. I adjusted the handle bars to my liking and raised the seat to its proper level, because apparently a midget had been on it the previous day. I adjusted the feet straps, inserted my foot into each peddle, said a prayer, then class began.

In all my preparation I didn't check one thing about the bike, which is why I stated earlier "suggests no expense was spared", the seat. Now listen I am still a young guy in all reality, but when I had my first bike we had the banana seat, it was long, it was wide and it was about the size of the small church pews that are always located near the back door in every good church. However, in today's world, for whatever reason, the seats are just this side of a sewing thimble or my arse is wide as a door (and in all honesty a combination of both is most likely the reality of it). I sat on the dumb thing and it felt like a bee just stung me right in the crack. "Oh my God" I thought "this is miserable", but class had already begun and no way would I leave and confirm, for a room full of women and one another dude, their already preconceived notion that I was a wimp, so I stuck it out. The class itself was a good exercise routine, lots of standing and sitting as we pedaled, of course with every stand meant the dreaded sit followed closely behind. The sit was miserable; my legs would go numb, except from the area of about the navel underneath to the top of my butt crack on the backside, now that area screamed in agony with every sit. I found myself wishing someone would cut my nipple off to take my mind off of the pain of "the land down under". It never happened! I looked around the room, people working hard, people cutting up with those beside them, people rocking to the awesome music that was playing as we spun, etc.

However, 'ol number 10 and I weren't getting along so well, with every sit brought a new sting, and with every sting brought joy and adulation to 'ol number 10, I felt. At some point the instructor, and yes you guys know her refer to "the devil in blue spandex" aka "Bee" made a decision that spinning itself just wasn't enough. Therefore we would spin sitting for a count then stand for a count, sitting for a count stand for a count, and so on and so forth. For me it was more like: sitting through hell standing for Heaven, sitting through hell standing for Heaven, I think you get the picture. We did that for awhile and then we sat again; as we sat it was time to get a little arm exercise apparently. So we put our hands well in front of us on the handlebars, like the ones you see in the Tour de France or something, and started to do push ups as we sat, which means leaning way forward, then pushing back up straight, all in the sitting position. Well, this is where they lost me, because every lean forward and every push back was, well, how do you say it? Okay, forgive me here if what I am about to say is offensive and/or lacking in gentlemanly qualities, if it is then please bare with me in my folly; each "bike push up" was plain and simple a "nut crusher"!!!! I did a total of two "nut crushers", and well that was all I had to offer, I hopped off my bike, tip toed to the locker room, puked blood, laid in the floor with a stomach ache, called in sick, walked like Chester from Gunsmoke, and sung like the tenor Luciano Pavarotti the remainder of the day................."No soup for Jerry Seinfeld, No spin class for me"

Does anyone know if they need a new guy to do the voice for Mickey Mouse?"

~Guest Blogger Brett~

Lucifer

So this is the male version of what goes down during an aerobics class that he (Guest Blogger Brett) and I, participate in down at the gym. He actually wrote this long before I wrote mine and you can see-we have similar views...he was kind enough to be a guest blogger and share his first experience with instructor Bee. You've read about her here on several occasions. But we love you Bee. If I don't say that she'll literally kill us at the next class-which Guest Blogger Brett has already come up w/an excuse to miss. He wants to live long enough to run the Mercedes this weekend. We have big fun at 5 in the morning...nothing like a room packed full of people, burning some calories before work.

I walked into the 5:15 Step 'n Sculpt class as it is so deceivingly referred as. I introduced myself to the instructor, a very, tone attractive lady who introduced herself as "Bee". Bee told me what to do in order to set up my station and which weights I would need. Bee said, and I quote “I am not trying to insult you, but get the 5 lbs dumbbells for starters”, so I took her advice into consideration and grabbed the 10 pounders (2nd mistake of the morning, the first was walking into the class, I would later find out), and we are off………..

We began with a “simple” warm up. We started with some stepping exercises, side to side, grapevine, step/tap, etc. At this point I am not sure what is going on but it appears I am stepping on beats 1 and 3 and everyone else is stepping to 2 and 4, arrogantly I thought “white women have no rhythm and/or concept of staying to the beat” OOOHHH YEEAAHHH! Did I mention I am the only dude in the class? So warm up is over and we are into the workout, a light weight, high repetition workout, I have come to realize. We do lunges, squats, steps, for the legs right out of the gate, and after 5 minutes I am breathing quite heavily, and feel a twitch in my hamstrings (or hammies as we gym rats refer to them), but I am doing okay, and thought this will be a welcomed relief to my normally strenuous workout.


Next comes chest and arms, we begin chest presses with the weights and butterflies, after a few minutes I develop a case of shaky arm, I am starting to break a good sweat, now my legs and arms are twitching. “Better work out than I anticipated” I thought to myself. “Now back to legs” Bee says. “What! I thought we had already done that” I murmured under my panting breath. So, my arms are shaky, my legs are tired, and we are still working on them. I noticed a bifurcated tail start to appear from the lower back of the seemingly sweet Bee. I am now hurting, breathing heavily, sweating more, and wishing I was home.

“Biceps” says Lucifer, uuughhh Bee I mean. We start a bicep workout using those stupid dumbbells again. I pick up the 10 pounders and fall into cadence. “God, help me” up and down, up and down, up and down! I am struggling, to say it mildly! “Okay, I should have went with the 5 pounders” I thought to myself, geez, I am even panting when I think now! At my last count we did 313 repetitions (or reps as Bee called them), of bicep curls, I am spent!!!! I am now in agony, breathing is beyond heavy, profusely sweating, and wishing it was 6:15 (the end of class).


“Shoulders” Bee screams, as her eyes turn to red, her demonic horns begin to appear, and her bifurcated tail sways back and forth to the beat of the “club” rendition of the Commodores “Brick House”. I now loathe Bee! My delusional mind concludes there is a special place in Hell for Bee, and she couldn’t get there quick enough as far as I am concerned and if she needs a ride there, then jump in shotgun with me for a ride on the express, sweetheart, and I will open the door for you on arrival. “Back” Bee roars, with her demonic voice, and her little female minions do as instructed. At this point, I am praying for death, sweated out, and contemplating striking Bee in the back of the head with the dumbbell, if only I could lift it!

Finally, Bee the Ghoul, as I now call her, said “good job guys, have a wonderful day” I lay there on the cool floor praying for Rapture or some form of projectile vomit to relieve my fatigued body. I caught my breath, and slowly rose to a sitting position, Bee came over to me, and offered me a hand to get me on my feet. I, dejectedly, accepted, I had no choice really; I knew I couldn’t do it on my own at that point. She encouragingly patted me on the back and sweetly said “Good job, Brett!” and then asked “See you on Friday morning?” I looked at her angelic face, “when did that happen” I thought, and I said to Bee the Ghoul, “Yeah, well, don’t count on it Legion. I’ll not submit myself to your forces of evil, and your eccentric circles of Hell, you call a workout anymore!!!!” I put up my equipment away as any good Christian would do, I limped to the locker room, stood under the tepid water of the shower, and cried like the day I was born.

~Guest Blogger Brett~

**disclaimer**

In no way am I to be punished for Brett's point of view when I go back to The Gym. I would never call an instructor Lucifer-though most of them are demonic and feed on the common man's pain and agony. In fact, I credit the Evil Instructors for making me a kinder person each day. If you can survive a full hour of one of these classes-it's hard NOT to feel good. And if I see one of the other participants on the street, we only share a nod and half grin because "The first rule of Fight Club is..." well, you get it...



Stay tuned for Guest Blogger Brett's take on the spin class!