This morning I went to a spinning class at the Y. For one hour, I pedaled my little heart out. This may not sound like a big deal to you, but to me it was an accomplishment. I have a love/hate relationship with working out, and by that I mean I love to hate it.
I have belonged to the Y several times over the years, with mixed results. Two times I have tried to attend classes regularly, only to have the children cry miserably whenever I left them there (and once one of the kids was bitten!). SO! I thought to myself those many years ago - I guess it's not meant to be! The kids hate it! I can't keep coming and traumatizing the children! Must quit - too bad!
Another time I began attending, only to get pregnant and experience horrible morning (all day, of course) sickness. Must quit again! And also because pregnancy means a free ticket to eat whatever I want. Shoot! Working out just isn't going to work out for me! Bummer!
This time, I carefully thought it through before signing on the dotted line. I took sweet little K to the playroom to try it out. She loved it so much she begged to stay. I tried out the treadmill one day and a class today. Both were good. Perhaps the time has come when I can actually work out and maybe, just maybe, I will stick with it. I'll keep ya posted.
A few times I thought my legs were going to collapse under me and I was going to cause a scene and embarrass myself (and my dear husband, who went to the class with me for moral support). Miraculously they did not, and I persevered. My butt, however, is in some serious pain. I hear that will subside over time. I sincerely hope so.
As I was spinning all those miles (because I must have ridden super far in an hour, right??), I recalled the last time I had ridden a bike such a distance. Colorado, in the bike ride of (near) death. While my legs were quite jelly-like today, nothing compares to that ride. Score!
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