So again on Thursday, Laura reminds me of this pesky 'schedule' we are supposed to be following. And since denial is no longer working as a defense after last week I concede and meet her at the gym Thursday for another long indoor ride.
You'll remember that last week we rode 60 minutes of spin class and then just kept riding like crazies when everyone else was clearing out and heading home. You'll also remember that the instructor for that spin class was of the mildly annoying variety and had a tendency to break out into song. You'd think it couldn't get much worse, right? I mean a singing instructor has got to be one of the top two most annoying things that can get thrown your way in a pre-packaged average gym-variety spin class....right?
This week started out great (which should have immediately put me on guard for disaster). Laura and I both arrive early and are off and spinning 15 minutes before class (which is 15 minutes less than we have to stay after class -- bonus). We're chatting. Joking about how the normal instructor should be (thankfully) back this week. And in walks this weeks instructor. And don't get me wrong, she was nice enough, and knowledgeable enough...and lacking any annoying personality traits. But instead, she was of the "now you have to stare at my totally buff and perfect physique all class and feel guilty about everything fattening you've ever eaten in your life" annoying type.
So as I'm mentally calculating the amount of Ben & Jerry's calories I've ingested this week alone and trying to convince myself that this will just make me work a little harder, which is good for me.....then the kicker.
The iPod adapter thingey isn't working. No tunes.
Well, all is not lost. I've got my iPod with me for the post-class riding so it wouldn't have been horrible to spin without tunes. But the instructors not really having it. She finds this CD laying around the sound system and decides to just wing it.
I wish I could recap the playlist for you, but I think I was so traumatized I have completely blocked it out of my memory. Never have I been so ready to be done with a class. The CD was clearly from pre-historic times (i.e. pre iPod times -- early 90's, but think bad, early 90s), and back then they must have been under the impression that you didn't need to pedal fast to get a workout.
But we persevered, and managed to complete our requisite 120 minutes of indoor cycling hell. Props to the instructor. She really did the best she could. The whole situation wasn't her fault at all. And the mishap actually made our extra 60 minutes of sucky solo cycling seem almost like fun. So it all worked out.