The Devil Is From Sweden.

The devil did not go down to Georgia. The devil is from Sweden AND she (yes, she) teaches a spin class at my gym.



Let me unfold the scene for you. I haven’t been to the gym in FOREVER a while. My BFF/Sister-n-law (yes, we’re tricky like that and figured out a way for our kids to be related. There’s another BFF in the related mix too. We three girls are oh so smart. But that’s a story for another time) so, she cons me tells me I should go to this spin class with her because she burns a ton of calories. And hey, it’s not a problem that I haven’t been in the gym since Adam and Eve walked the earth. It’s no big deal because everyone can go at their own pace if you can’t keep up. LIAR!!!!!!!!!


First off, I walk in almost late, but no worries because my BFF Pinocchio has saved me a seat. Perfect. Especially since this bike is SO NOT a bike. I’m not sure what it is but had she not been there I would’ve needed a rocket scientist to help me with the 500 adjustments you need to make in order to “Spin” and who is this seat made for, Thumbelina? Also, I wasn’t sure why I had to strap my feet in (I figured this out QUICKLY later). Here’s a hint…it’s a lot like a themepark ride…guess what they don’t want you to do in the middle of it….escape get off.


Now the class starts up, and I start pedaling and am like “Wow, this is great. I’ve so got this”. We pedal along for a little while and I’m watching the cool Lance Armstrong/Tour de France bike videos that play on the big screens at the front of the room and thinking this aint so bad. WRONG. Then Satan the instructor starts yelling and whistling and all I can make out is “mountain” and “Stand up”. Huh? Stand Up? I can’t stand up and pedal…the pedals are going around way too fast. That’s when my former BFF looks over and says "turn the knob to the right to make it harder to pedal so you don’t fall off". My first instinct is “Um. No.” but then I realize that we’re getting left at the bottom of the “mountain” ALONE so I give in and head to the slaughter with the rest of the lambs (although skinny lambs that they are) stand up. Big mistake. HUGE. Ginormous. I quickly figure out THIS is why your feet are strapped in…I mean, I am no study in balance and grace, but this is RIDICULOUS. I also look up and get a glance at where my awesome saved seat is located…right in front of the mirror. Perfect. Thanks Ya-Ya. This is getting better and better.


The remainder of the class goes like this, sit down, stand up, sit down, stand up. I’m thinking what is this? Catholic Church??? El Diablo the instructor continues to yell things I can’t understand but I do pick up a couple of things along the lines of...”if your not trying I will call you out, I will get you “ and I think A.) what’s the point of that, no one could FREAKING understand you if you called them out and B.) I dare you. Double Dog Dare. I also pick up something about “having quiet hips in the stand up process” and notice from my awesome LARGE image in the mirror that I definitely do not have quiet hips. They are indeed very, very, VERY loud.

Finally, the eternity hour class is at the end. Thank you sweet baby Jesus. The instructor asks if anyone would like to stay and die a slow painful death do another 30 minutes and the a$$hole next to me my BFF raises her hand. Traitor. I manage to unhook myself from the machine of death and as I exit,I shoot my former BFF the finger and tell her she’s f-ng dead to me now. She is very phased by this and waves and says “okie doke. I’ll call ya later. Same time Thursday right?”


P.S. – I dropped a note in the suggestion box on the way out that they might want to paint that room orange with flames on the wall and make Lucifer Helga walk around in a red unitard with horns to give unsuspecting gym-goers a fair idea of what goes on in there.