The Singing Spinner

Today I was back in (and out of) the saddle in my Thursday spin class at the Y. 

My instructor on Tuesdays and Thursdays is a woman I choose to call Judy. I call her this not because I feel like keeping her anonymity, it's because I can't ever remember her name. Judy is clearly a type A personality; she wears her sponsor bike spandex to every class, runs marathons on the weekend, and barks at us to "feel our cadence!", whatever that means. 

I hate Judy. 

However, Judy's music choices are superb. Every class, we listen to some combination of Coldplay, Dave Matthews, Adele, and random oldies like the Eagle's 'Hotel California'. And through no fault of my own, I inadvertently sing (quietly) through each class. I probably look like I'm having some sort of seizure: bright red in the face, head bobbing around, lips flailing. 

Singing through class, though, seems to make the 7o minutes of spinning go by much faster.

Tomorrow, I have the instructor who I affectionately refer to as "The Old Guy".

Until Tomorrow,

J

PS. I put that picture of the monkey as a joke but as I look at it more, it freakishly reminds me of the image I see in the mirror after spin class.