Subourbon Mom

One of the many reasons I’m not a runner is because it hurts every joint from your hips to your toes. When I hopped off the still moving treadmill and tried to stretch my hip by twisting my leg into a pretzel, the gym trainer made me get on the exercise bike instead.

I hate the bike. I hate it with a passion I usually reserve for pedophiles, animal abusers and people who don’t use their turn signals.

Partly, I hate it because I associate it with those ultra-considerate people who ride bikes on the country roads by my house, taking up an entire lane while going 10 mph, and holding up traffic for miles. I dislike those biking enthusiasts even more when they have the audacity to grump when I shoot past them because…that’s right, I LIVE ON THAT ROAD. Bikers, I’m glad you’re out for your afternoon of freedom and exercise, but I live 20 minutes from town – I’ve got shit to do and errands to run before I too can enjoy the great outdoors, and you’re making it take even longer.

But I digress.

Mostly I hate the exercise bike at the gym because I sweat like a politician telling the truth as I do the hill climb or whatever cardio Hell they’ve decided to throw at us. I start wheezing because it’s hard work pedaling up an imaginary hill to nowhere.  I suck wind like I’ve been dutch-ovened after a chili cook-off because, in order to make the RPMs like I’m supposed to, I have to lean over and use the arm rests on the front of the bike. No big deal you say?  You try flailing your legs in a tiny circle in record time while you’re bent in half. It’s like running on a gerbil wheel while trying to lick your stomach.

Did I mention that I hate the bike?

When I’m done, completely spent and in danger of becoming a “sprinkler,” (one whose sweat dances off their body and onto others) I go to the office, shower and examine the damage. I will never be able to go to the OBGYN while I’m having to ride this Inquisition torture device – there would be some questions asked about the bruises all over my inner thighs. Helloooo…ever heard of seat cushions, oh Makers of the Almighty Exercise Bike?

So, I went out and bought some actual exercise leggings for an added protective layer. It didn’t help. I still look like I’ve been riding a bony bucking bronco every morning.

And I will never understand those people who do spin classes and say how much they love it, how addicted they are.

I think it’s a cult.

They probably keep hundreds of gerbils spinning on wheels in their homes just to watch them go, because they’re so obsessed; and, I’ll bet some of them spin to power their eco- and gerbil-friendly homes as they try to challenge Lance Armstrong’s over-sized, steroid-tripping heart. Over-achievers, if you ask me. I would much rather walk and jog on a fake road, thank you very much.

I will always hate the exercise bike, but the bottom line (aside from the ones on my actual bottom) is that it does rest my hip joints, and I’m no longer in danger of flying off the back of the treadmill while I stretch during the hardest parts of the workout (I’m not stupid – I’m not going to waste the walking portion with stretching).

So don’t worry Lance, you and your gerbils are in no danger from me.