Earlier this year, I was a spin instructor. OK, not exactly – “spin” is a registered trademark for the proprietary indoor bicycle exercise system of Johnny G. So, for legal reasons – “indoor cycling instructor.” But it’s the whole sitting on a bike, increasing your pedal’s resistance with a hand crank, being barked at by a self-styled taskmaster as you climb an imaginary hill and sweat to the beat of a Rihanna remix.
Spin (registered trademark) is the exercise of choice for a certain kind of celebrity. Perhaps you’ve seen its adherents evangelizing about it, paying $25 or more per session to participate and even buying street clothes from their studio of choice, in order to swan their spin-toned bods about town wearing jeans with a SoulCycle or FlyWheel logo on the thigh. The sport surely has its believers.
The root of the issue: You cannot consume all the delectable dishes, desserts and drinks of a happy relationship without working out like a fiend. Don’t listen to someone who spits crap about “fast metabolism” and other such nonsense. You Must Work Out.
At the gym I went to earlier this year, indoor cycling (non-registered trademark) classes were free and plentiful. I love routine and order, so I started showing up every weekday. The program coordinator took notice of my persistence, dedication and rude cycling resting face, and in short order I was recruited to teach my own class. The class was a dream for a while. I’ve been an aspiring music snob for most of my remembered life (“aspiring,” because I don’t quite have the stamina for the foraging and dedication required to truly be ahead of the curve, but I really cherish the bragging rights).
One thing’s for sure: Nothing inspires you to buy cuter workout clothes quite like teaching a fitness class.
Anyway, I was rocking that class to some choice Magnetic Fields-timed climbs, as well as some nice and jarring Miley Cyrus/Frank Ocean mashup-themed sprints. It was an Egg Timer Job to cherish.
Has anyone considered underwater cycling?
In the last few posts, I discussed the theme of holding myself accountable for time management. This is a huge productivity hygiene issue, chiefly because the nature of Egg Timing means I’m in charge of imposing structure on my sometimes scarily amorphous days.
