Spin Cycle

A couple of months ago I did a spin class with one of my friends. 


It was at the very height of my exercise binge, and I couldn't wait to hit the pedals and cycle my gluteus maximus into greatness. 


We went after work, got changed with the heady scent of sweat and fitness lingering in the changerooms, and headed into the spin room. 


The walls were painted in black, with neon lighting - remember that from blue light discos? So the lint on my lycra was illuminated. I ain't no Cadel Evans, sisters. 


It was when the instructor came up to me, and commenced adjusting my seat, and then told me that if I couldn't keep up, I should just keep riding, but don't stop, I started to feel the first pangs of fear. 


Then the lights were dimmed and the music (bad music) was cranked up and the disco lights came on. Then I got really worried.


Nevertheless, I forged ahead. I was a warrior. I was like Lance Armstrong meets Fame. 


We started riding. And riding. And riding. After a long period the instructor told us that the warm up was over. There I was thinking the class must be finished. Enough of the pedals. And enough of the damn bike seat. 


The class went on for forty five arduous minutes. The most arduous thing, besides cranking up the dial on the bike, was the bike seat. Cruel beast that it was. 


Why does no one ever talk about that discomfort? 
I felt like John Wayne after a three week horseride. That bike seat bites.


I got home, inspected my property and vowed to never return to spin. 
And I haven't. 


After consulting the interwebz, it turns out us ladies can inflict a lot of damage on our lady parts due to a fraction too much friction from those no-good bike seats. 


The next day the gals at work asked how the class went. I told them it was more painful than childbirth. You know when the baby crowns. Yes. That bit.


I'm not going to beat around the bush. No. I'm talking about what lies beneath the bush. That bike seat hurt. And I'm never going back. Ever. 


Why didn't anyone ever tell me about the cruel beast that is the bike seat? You and me, we need to talk. 


(This article on SMH brought these memories back, bubbling to the surface. That cruel wench of a bike seat.)


image via Somewhere in Seoul

I May Be Sporting A Wee Hangover

So instead of banging on about anything, I'm going to send you off to other people. I'm tucked up under a quilt, sipping on lemonade, a box of tissues keeping me company. I'm sad like that.

Looking for an international man of mystery? Nan has some spectacular insights into French lurve.

Feel like a weekend trip to Tasmania? Fancy a seat on the fanciest red tractor? Go visit Michelle. She's been checking out the auctions.

Pip has a genius feline in her presence. As well as a piece in The Age (for some reason I can't link but definitely worth a read! - click over here).

Cindy's asking the big question - Why Do You Blog? My answer - because it's like my online diary, I am bollocks at keeping a written journal; and because I love to write.

And last of all, I'm sending you off to listen to some music. Put your feet up toots, sit back and enjoy one of my all time favourite songs. Have I shared this before?

Ahem. Image is yet another shameless hint for Matt. Pink Schwinn makes me go schawing!

Like A Bike

Amy at Badskirt has been talking a whole lotta bike lately. A while back I mentioned I was gunning for a bike for my 30th. A sweet little cruiser. Though my choice of bike must be practical. I have to dinky the smalls around town too. What about this sweet lady? Look at her curves. Look at those classic lines. With a twist! A twist people. It's in the twist! It's not just a bicycle built for two, it's got two seatbelts in the back! You see that Matt?

(via the delectable Mrs. French)