Who’s Afraid of a Stationary Bike? or, Fat Ego vs. a Bicycle Seat

Dear Reader,

I have a job that I love. Without getting into the boring details, essentially my job requires me to meet complete and total strangers over the phone, or in person, and make them like me. And I’m really good at it (this may be Fat Ego talking, but it’s working for us).

So far, my job has taken me to such dream boat destinations as Mobile, Alabama; Oklahoma City, Oklahoma; Plano, Texas; Reno, Nevada; and King of Prussia, Pennsylvania. I know - you’re jealous. In my travels to this point the last place you would find me was a windowless hotel basement on a treadmill. Most of the time I was furiously scouring Yelp.com while endlessly expanding my search area for reviews from stray foodies who found themselves in unfamiliar lands.

Round 1: Fat Lesbian vs. Houston

For the first time, I have a reason to venture into the complimentary facilities. I don’t want to lose whatever muscle or endurance or whatever that I have gained while Bivnard and I are on forced separation. This is how, on my most recent visit to TX, I found myself overlooking the Houston skyline from the seat of a robot bicycle. The robot was personable enough, but was a little demanding for a first date.  “Pedal faster. Enter Weight. Beep bop boop.” 

Once we dispensed with the pleasantries, we settled in to watch a Wheel of Fortune marathon. I opted for the maximum distraction possible and listened to a podcast while watching. I don’t get the clues any faster when I’m actually listening to the show, as it turns out. 80 minutes later, I had worked my butt off and was wiping down my date wondering what I had been so afraid of.

Round 2: Fat Lesbian vs. Dallas

New day, new hotel. The gym is in its own separate building, so I walk over ready for a second date since they all look alike anyway, and discover a spinning class is starting in 5 minutes. A little back story on this:  the last time I went to a spinning class was at the behest of Fit Lesbian and her budding cycling fixation. She took me to a spinning “studio” which was actually a walk-in closet painted black and crammed with 14 stationary bicycles. There was literally not enough room to walk between the bikes if people were on them.  Once you were in, you were there for the entire terrifying ride. To add to the experience, the latest innovation in “stationary” bikes is that they sway side to side. This is intended to simulate the feeling of riding around turns, but if the bikes are placed too close together and you are not in sync with your neighbors (or can’t keep up) you run the risk of bumping sweaty body parts, and that’s no fun for anyone. I wedged myself into the corner, adjusted my bike as much I could knowing zero about bicycles that don’t move, and only a smidge more about those that do. The class room filled to capacity, the lights went down, and the music went up. By the time I was done, I was covered in other people’s bodily fluids and knew I would never sit down ever again.

Luckily, Fat Ego also tells me I am brave, so I signed up for my second spinning class. Since everything is bigger in Texas, the bikes were about 2 feet apart, and clearly took the term “stationary” at face value, no swaying. The instructor helped me adjust my bike, and I made it feel as close to riding Bivnard as I could. We did hills, sprints, hilly sprints, and the entire time the instructor helped us with our form, made sure we weren’t going into cardiac arrest, and even cracked a few jokes. I spun for an hour, and am happy to report that I am writing this entry in a seated position. Spinning: Conquered.

Success!!!

Sincerely,

Fat Lesbian