A spinning bike is a heavy bike that doesn’t go anywhere. It lurks in dark gym studios like some humourless marine drill sergeant waiting to torture the fat off your body. It Is not really designed for people and therefore a spinning bike is extremely uncomfortable so it was with some trepidation that we perched, feet strapped firmly into pedals and waited for the ‘spininathon’ to begin. Usually a swift 45 minutes will leave one dripping with sweat and gasping. We were going to be spinning for three hours.
It was for charity but even so you could see by the expressions of the gym reception staff that we had been deemed lunatic. We assessed each other and agreed with the reception staff. There were nearly 20 bikes ready and waiting but most people had paid their entry ticket and then stayed well away. I could hear their ghostly laughter even as the sound system started pounding out club classics circa 1998. However it was too late to unbuckle and flee. We had to spin.
Three hours later, two instructors, a dozen refills of the water bottles, a a clutch of energy bars and a banana and it was over. We high fived, shrieked with glee and promptly fell off the bikes our legs now made entirely of jelly.
The Arthur Rank Hospice…. Its for you baby.
Now wheres my bleeding gin and tonic…?