Spinning around in circles

As Americans, we reserve the right to bare arms.

But I happen to hate mine. One day, I looked at them and I was like, what the…

When did this happen? When did my arms get this big? I remember trying on a shirt at the local mall recently and the sleeves were a bit snug.

I thought it must be the shirt. Why on earth would any designer make sleeves so small? Go figure.

But I can’t ignore this problem any longer. Last month, I learned about my high school reunion and I’m so excited to see everyone.

But before I slip into my little black “sleeveless” dress, I must address my growing arm issue. I had to do something fast. I decided that a total body workout is what my body needed. So I signed up for my first spinning class in more than 10 years on Tuesday following a full day at work.

My instructor, who constantly reminded us that she had just run seven miles before the class, informed me that spinning works the core, upper body and lower body.

Perfect.

That’s exactly what I need. I wasn’t nervous. I was pumped until the instructor told us to increase the resistance on our stationary bicycles.

What? Why? How could I forget about this part? I’ll blame it on my selective memory. As I cringed and struggled to keep up, an energetic girl next to me says, “you’re doing great,” smiling effortlessly following the instructor’s directions.

Whatever.

I’m hurting over here. Oxygen. I need oxygen. Especially since the class was located in a tiny storage room behind the basketball gym.

The only high point of the class was my attire. I wore my new tennis skort. I spent most of the time looking at it in the mirror and checking out how it looked on me. While my hands should have been on the handlebars, they were pulling and tugging at the spandex.

By the way, whoever installed those weird funhouse mirrors in that room ought to be shot.

During the class, I informed my instructor that it’s been a while since I’ve taken a spinning class.

Puh-lease.

Who was I trying to fool? She knew. As the class increased their resistance and lifted their bottoms above the seats, I was casually cruising in easy mode at my very own speed.

I had no choice. My thighs were in shock. My legs could do no more.

What time is this class over anyway? Not soon enough.

After an hour of torture, the instructor directed the class to cool down by turning the resistance down toward low and pedal slowly.

Shoot. I was already doing that.

I’m not sure I have the strength to return again this week.

Fuggetaboutit.

I’m making an appointment for liposuction.

Rhonda Simmons doesn’t condone major plastic surgery but in this case, she’ll make an exception. She can be reached at or at 825-0771 ext. 125.