If only Spin class were more like drunk angry sex…

 So here’s the thing.

Last week I tried a spin class for the very first time in my life.

I’m not going to lie. I didn’t really like it.

So obviously, I went back and  I tried it again.

And still…

While I appreciate that spin class is an awesome low impact workout that will help you to burn billions of calories and sweat your brains out in a kind of mindless way,

– which is great for people like me, who find that thinking too hard hurts the brain-

And while I did appreciate that basically there’s no coordination required, as the moves don’t get much more complicated than

Stand up. Crouch forward. Stand back up. Sit down. Stick your arm out straight in front of you like you’re super serious about giving somebody directions.

Not just pointing like you’re telling one person where to go, but sticking your whole flat hand out directly in front of you as though you were leading a brigade, or parting the

red sea…

Or maybe like you’re the figurehead of a majestic ship… or something.

  Figureheads

 

And while I did appreciate all of that,

I didn’t super love the part where you put enormous effort into going somewhere, but never actually arrive at any destination.

I didn’t love the part where the instructor suddenly yells at you to stand up but doesn’t tell you to slow down first, so when you jump up, because you’re still in motion, you are abruptly pulled back down, vulva-first on to your rock hard bike seat.

I did not love that when you’re standing up pedaling, the nose of that very same intrusive seat very gently but quite persistently pokes you in the bum over and over and over again, much like an apologetically horny 19 year old boy at the crack of morning.

But you know what? I’d be willing to overlook ALL of that if it wasn’t for ONE thing. Yes, the thing.

Here’s the actual thing.

The THING here, the thing is MUSIC.

I get that I’m not exactly a spinning expert per se…

And I get that actual qualified instructors are not DJs, sadly, but certified based on a certain level of competency in bike assembly, bike safety, heart rate monitoring, the fundamentals of coaching, the finer points of crafting unforgettable class ride profiles, and so much more… *cough*

But something has to change, and here’s why.

Spin class should sound less like the theme song of a really bad 70’s television series starring a widowed, retired private investigator and his 3 legged crime solving irish setter.

And more like the trailer for a girls night out ( not a movie, but the pre-game drinks you down and tracks you play while getting ready for an actual real live night out with your Gyals)…

or the soundtrack to some good old fashioned drunk angry sex.

Stay with me here.

I have the attention span of a flea.

Also I’m lazy.

Also I need a prize to keep my eye on.

So as you can imagine, for somebody like me, when pedaling a stationary bike – just pedaling around and around and around and getting absolutely nowhere, for an entire hour, most of that hour is spent looking accusingly at the clock.

ESPECIALLY if, while I’m doing it, I have to listen to Chicago. Or Foreigner. Or Dexy’s Midnight Runners.

Don’t get me wrong.

Come on Eileen holds a special place in my heart, and is a very lovely song to listen to,

If you’re riding your not-stationary bike down a gravel road, lined with daisy fields, with a picnic in your basket.

I love a lot of Michael Jackson’ music, but The way you make me feel

makes me feel like getting off my bike and leaving.

What a feeling, from flashdance

does make me feel like pouring my water bottle out over my head and whipping my hair from side to side…

but doesn’t make me feel like cranking my gear up and spinning my legs around and around, while going absolutely nowhere, with my arm straight out in front of my face.

If I have to do something really intensely demanding but also so incredibly boring that I’m about to fall over…

I need bass.

I need hard. driving bass.

I need punk rock, hip hop, old school rap, techno rave, pop club music, I don’t care what, but something that makes me feel some serious attitude on a mission.

If I have to stand up and pound my feet into the pedals as hard and as fast as I can and not get angry and leave because no matter how hard or fast I peddle, I don’t even get two inches across the floor…

I need to do that to ACDC or Turbonegro or… honestly,

I’d be willing to tone it down with the  Iggy Azalea, or Britney Spears even. I’m really flexible that way. Just don’t get right up in my face and scream at me to

“KEEP MOVING PEOPLE!!!! DON’T GIVE UP!!”

to Sweet Home Alabama.

And I don’t care how much I love him, or how slow you are pedaling or even if we’re all off bike, stretching out our hamstrings and doing sun salutations. It is NEVER okay EVER to play Bon Jovi’s Dead or Alive during an exercise class of any kind.

And I just absolutely, under no circumstances ever want to be half naked, sweating with strangers, thrashing about wildly on a piece of dangerous (I’m not kidding I’m pretty sure I broke my cervix) machinery while frantically and desperately nursing on my water bottle…

to the Doobie Brothers.

Ever.

I will say these two things.

#1 To the teacher who had the sense to play Joan Jett’s Bad Reputation at the end of her class.

That and that alone, is the only reason I came back for a second class. So, literally… well played.

#2 Don’t think for a minute that that I’m going to let Starship keep me from learning how to love Spin. I’m going to make that class my bitch, whether I like it or not.

In the meantime, I’ve taken it upon myself to start working on a few playlists of my own for my at-home-spin class of sorts. And I say of sorts because I don’t actually have a stationary bike at home to sit and go nowhere on so I have to practice on my couch for now. It’s a work in progress, and I’m open to suggestions (unless your suggestions include Pink Floyd, Blue Oyster Cult and/or Creedence Clearwater Revival) but here’s what I have so far…

 

********POP********

(Pre-Game Soundtrack/Girls Night Out Trailer)

Titanium – David Ghetta ft Sia

 

Ain’t No Other Man – Christina Aguillera

 

Maps – Maroon 5

 

Pound The Alarm – Nicki Minaj

 

Burn – Ellie Goulding

 

Timber – Pitbull ft Kesha

 

Let The Groove Get In – Justin Timberlake

 

Superstar – Tegan & Sara

 

I Fink U Freeky – Die Antwoord

 

Alive – SIA

 

Prayer in C – Lilly Wood & The Prick

 

 

********Rock & Rap********

(Drunk Angry Sex…)

It’s Tricky – Run DMC

 

Seven Nation Army – White Stripes

 

Painted Black – Gob

 

Lose Yourself - Eminem

 

Should I stay or should I go – The Clash

 

Fried Chicken and Coffee – Nashville Pussy

 

X Gon Give It To You – DMX

 

Get Back (Red Light District) – Ludacris

 

Tell Me What You’re Feeling – Nocturnal

 

Once Around The Block – The Devil Dogs

 

Love for sale – Motorhead

 

Trouble – Pink

 

Crimson & Clover – Joan Jett and the Blackhearts

I Punched A Girl And I Liked It

After Boxing class last night, as I was about to drag my tired and sweaty body to the locker room to grab my stuff, the instructor called my name.

“Jen! Don’t take off your wraps – come here!”

I walked over to her expecting her to check to see if I’d been putting them (wraps) on wrong, or to correct something I’d been doing while sparring or… I don’t even know.

But instead, she asked if I wanted to go into the ring and practice offence with one of the girls from the gym who is an actual fighter. Like, somebody who has actually boxed. Like real live boxing.

Let me clarify.

She asked me if I wanted to go into the ring and punch a girl. But not just any girl. A fighter. A girl fighter.

I… I can’t even…

Can I just tell you, that as much as I LOVE performing, and as high as I feel singing my little heart out and playing with the audience, and wearing sparkly, glittery, pretty little girly girl costumes and feathers and rhinestones and lace and all that other glamorous princessy shit.

AND I DO.

And as non-violent as I am (trust me, I spend half my boxing class apologizing and asking

“are you alright? oops sorry! Oh my God, I’m so sorry…”

NOTHING feels quite like putting on a pair of gloves, climbing through the ropes of a boxing ring, throwing jabs and punches… with every last ounce of energy you have, while your coach/teacher yells at you “Harder! Come on! Left hook! Uppercut! Hit her!”.

NOTHING.

I was desperately miserable all day yesterday – I couldn’t find a way out of my funk. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t write. I couldn’t get off the couch. I couldn’t even eat all the cookies I made to comfort myself with (I know it sounds bad but it was mostly because they’re gross – Note to your self, if your peanut butter cookie recipe calls for molasses – find a new recipe)

The only time all day that I felt excited and alive all day was in that ring.
Actually. In fact I probably looked like a maniac, punching a girl in the head with a huge ass smile on my face the whole time.

I’m not saying that I want to be a real boxer or fighter or anything – Even if I thought I had it in me, I’m pretty sure that chance passed me years ago.

I’m just saying that there is something to be said for… I don’t even know what I’m saying.

I’m just saying that I punched a girl and I liked it.

Boxer

Like A Beached Beluga Clogging Down The Pedestrian Path

 

I started writing this post yesterday, and I was prepared to tell you all how crappy I’ve been feeling and follow that up with words of inspiration.

I had gone on this run at 6:30. I was sad and frustrated when I left the house but as I ran I was overcome with a feeling of optimism and joy spread through me like sunlight on an eagles wings…

That never happened.

I never felt that.

I did run. But I what I felt like was this:

I felt like a beached beluga clogging down the pedestrian path along the canal. Is what I felt like.

I felt like I couldn’t even remember why I was doing it.

I felt like a fraud with superficial ideas of what completes me as a human being.

I felt lonely and sad and heavy.

But for some reason I kept running.

Possibly because somewhere deep deeeeep down inside I still had a little glimmer of hope left.

Mostly because I had just downloaded a new boxing playlist and I wanted to listen to it really loud.

I ran from Lachine to Dorval, which is approximately 3.5 kilometres each way. This made me feel really proud for a second. My runs have extended from 5 to 7 kilometres, which is great, since I still have it in my head that I am going to register to run a 10k this fall. Because I still somehow believe that this will give me some sense of validation.

I was proud of having run as far as I did, but I wasn’t happy. I was still trudging along somewhat reluctantly as I often am on these runs, and none of the usual inspirational symbols were doing it for me.

Look at the trees! They’re so strong and commanding. That’s you running through them. Take their strength and …. eeeew gross is that vomit? What the hell was that person eating?

Breathe deeply, feel the force of wind on your face. That wind is powerful and … what a cute sailboat. I wonder how many people fit on that thing. I wish I was on that sailboat. I wish I could swim. I wish I’d bought that other top too the other day, it would have looked really good on me. God this run is taking forever. It’s like I can barely lift my fat feet off the ground even… where did the sailboat go?

 

Yes! See the sailboat? So silent and free. Gliding across the water like a – Hey what a dumb sign. Horizon. On the horizon. Of course.

It’s not dumb you jerk. Stop running a minute and look at it. And I did.

And suddenly I had a reason. I had motive. My feelings of self-doubt and despair were lifted. I imagined myself as the trees and the wind and the sailboat. All powerful. Strong. Free. Nothing and nobody could hurt me or hold me back. I had my whole future ahead of me.

And I started running again. I ran light on my feet with purpose and conviction. I ran and I ran. I ran so far away. I ran my little heart out, toward the horizon of my life. And when my run was over I felt a deep sense of accomplishment.

And then my day pretty much took a really bad turn and went straight to shit, progressively worsening with every moment. So I drank. excessively. Because alcohol fixes everything. Only the booze I drank last night was broken because it didn’t fix anything at all. It just made me drink more.

So as you can see, I have no inspiring words to share with you.

No deep insight of any kind.

And honestly, I do kinda think putting a sign that says horizon right in front of the view of the horizon, is kind of like those cheesy picture frames you can buy at Walmart or winners or target or whatever; The ones with the big wooden letters stuck to them that spell Family or Friends or baby.

But I’m a jerk. So who cares what I think?

Tune in tomorrow for another even more uplifting post probably entitled : I never asked to be born.

 

And, while I didn’t think it possible, I’ve definitely gotten even sexier than I already was.

So I promised I’d post an update today, as premature as it may be, a week and a half after my love affair with Zumba commenced.

I’m pleased to announce that the relationship is still going strong. I haven’t lost any weight, I gained 3 but I’m sure it’s all pure muscle because… just because.

While in measurement, I seemed to have lost an inch here and there, in all honesty, I can see that the inches have not been lost as much as they have migrated.

My butt seems to have started moving upward and is transforming itself into a lower-back shelf, which is fine with me because I am always looking for a place to put my water bottle while I exercise. The cats also find it a rather comfortable perch while I’m doing yoga so… it’s pretty much a win-win really.

And, while I didn’t think it possible, I’ve definitely gotten even sexier than I already was.

You know why?

Because I have the Zumba flowing and pumping passionately through my veins now.

And I won’t be deterred by evil sabotagers, like my rotten daughter who posted this on my facebook wall yesterday:

Which reminds me, is there an age limit to the orphans that Angel’s Cradle accepts or…

Alright, I have to go, there’s a DVD calling me from the living room as I right this “Jen! It’s Zumba time!” and the temptation is far too great to resist.

Tune in next week for another episode of Jen+Zumba – a healthy lifestyle change or a glorified form of escapism?

Who knows, maybe by then my ass will have transformed into a full size credenza by then!

Four Fife Sic Zumba! !

 

Holy crap! I’m having way too much fun with these HILARIOUS (and by hilarious I mean AWESOME) Zumba DVDs!

I’m not kidding. I love them in all their cheesy glory.

I’ve been doing them for 3 days in a row now and I can’t get enough, I swear. I wish I could stay home all day every day and Zumba to my heart’s content.

I don’t care if the sets are so late 80′s they give me flash backs of roller skates, Avanti cigarettes and wake-ups chased with Beer beer.

I don’t care that all the participants in the video are doing the moves differently from one another.

I don’t even care that Beto Perez takes every occasion he can find, relevant or not, to show off his ridiculously amazing abs.

He can do whatever the hell he wants with that adorable accent of his because exercising has never been so awesome.

I try to love exercising, I really do but I find it so hard to stay motivated. There are a bunch of exercise videos that I find really effective but they aren’t fun and they’re full of things I don’t love – Like push-ups. I don’t love push-ups at all. Nope, not even a little bit. I don’t love jumping jacks or burpees either. I actually hate planking and I don’t love lunges even a little tiny bit.

But guess what I do love! Zumba!! I’m so totally in drooling, gushing, ogling, cooing, giddy love with it – I could lick it’s bum-hole in a very drunken night of passion and still gaze lovingly into its eyes the next morning.

That’s right, you heard me.

I love Zumba THAT much.

Not only do I love it being so fun and full of awesome, but I love it for inspiring me and getting me excited about getting into better shape.

In one week I’m updating Girl Talk with weight/inches lost or muscles and awesomeness gained or whatever.

That’s a promise I making right this damn minute — I’m so serious, I am even writing it in my agenda right this second.

*scribbling pen scratching on paper noises*

Now, it’s late. I’m going to go do some yoga, read some book and go to bed – where I will caress my lady bits – while fantasizing deeply and vividly about you know what.