I Know Why Lance Armstrong Doped – I Just Took My First Spinning Class!
When my gal pal extraordinaire from work told me she had received her certification to teach a “spinning class” (for you two who don’t know, that’s a class where a bunch of folks you don’t know sweat next to you on a stationary bike for an hour while music plays and the instructor tells you you’re going uphill when you’re going nowhere because you’re on a stationary bike for Chrissakes but pedaling like there’s no tomorrow) of course I told her I’d come take her class. But then she actually expected me to take her class and now that I have, I know why Lance Armstrong doped – I just took my first spinning class!
I know she said something about the seat of your bike being at your hip level when you’re standing next to it but I was too busy playing with all the knobs and somehow not making any kind of difference to the seat, the handlebars, anything but my patience. I know you were supposed to be able to adjust something but I was breaking a sweat from just trying to move the seat down. So the thing I adjusted was myself, to another bike three over where the seat was close to being the right height for me. Lo and behold I was actually able to change the height on this seat but as far as the handlebars were concerned, I just went with whatever was already set.
I had never seen a bicycle seat like this in my life, nor had I ever sat on one. It sort of looked like an alien’s head from every “B” sci-fi movie you’ve ever seen. It was what I would call, “a micro seat” because the thing was so damn small that I don’t care how small your ass was, this seat was much, much, much, smaller. Now I have always prided myself on my ass. I considered it like everything of “Baby Bear’s” from the Goldilocks fairy tale, “just right.” Certainly it had enough padding for an hour’s ride on a bike going nowhere? That’s where I was about to learn I was sorely wrong.
No one tells you going in that your ass is about to hurt more than anything you’ve ever experienced in your life. As I said to my friend and some fellow “spinners” after the class, “I know it’s in bad taste but I can’t help it, I am a gay man but THAT hurt my ass!” (If you don’t get this, you probably would if you saw my one eyebrow raised and the panic/pain in my eyes.) That’s when the big bodybuilder dude with his blonde wife showed me his very well actually padded ass. That’s right, the ass and even the inner thighs were padded in the shorts. The woman next to him chuckled and showed me the seat she brought with her to class that slipped over the seat. As I looked at all of them incredulously I said, “How come no one tells you this BEFORE the class? Where are the ‘starter’ seats for those of who didn’t know or weren’t told? And finally how dare all of you stand there just nodding as if it’s amusing!!!”
The next day I walked a little funny and every time I moved in my chair at my work my ass cheeks, hamstrings and inner thighs reminded me of the torture I had put them through and were paying me back…in spades! The day after that I had to call my friend, I had to find out what was going on. The pain had gone from the ass cheeks to the actual ass. I wondered if I pulled a sphincter muscle or something. Had I been clenching too much? Did I have ass cancer, as I had suspected? My friend actually laughed at me and told me not only was it normal but that the cure for it was to take another class! Are you freaking kidding me? I don’t even know if my ass will be healed enough for class in another week, you want me back in the saddle in two days? Can’t be done. But as I sat there trying to work, shifting my weight from cheek to cheek, it dawned on me that this MUST be why Lance Armstrong doped!
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An acquired taste, like Tab cola, Some Like It Scott is one gay man's experiences with love, life and things that make him crazy, all done to a musical theatre soundtrack.