Sex and spin and broken dreams

Good morning, Friday. It's absolutely gorgeous outside. Finally. Amazing what a sunny day can do to the mood. I'm happy it's the weekend and looking forward to celebrating my niece and nephew's graduations on Sunday. Two weekends in a row in Philly- one for sad reasons, one for very happy ones. Life is odd that way.

So here's what. Recently, as in twice or three times in the past month, I've tried to up my cardio game a bit and returned to spinning and gulp, Soul Cycle. I'm still a barre girl through and through, but I need to move. And fast. So back to the bike I go, and Soul Cycle is close by so it's easy. And I found the best teacher.

There's a guy there called Noa (teaches in BK Heights) that is kind of my spin class spirit animal. He's not the most in shape dude, he's covered in tattoos, and he's absolutely hilarious. Oh and he plays the Wu, and he plays Rage Against the Machine, and he plays a ton of rock and hip hop and that's really all I need from a spin class. He has a Dave Attell vibe to him, and I suspect it was quite a path that led him to Soul Cycle. Anyway, if you're a fan of loud rock or hip hop while working on your fitness, go to his class. It's awesome.

Anyway, Soul Cycle has become more like So You Think you can Dance Cycle. I have always loved spinning because I find it meditative- in a dark room, with loud music, it's the only cardio you can do where you can truly close your eyes. Sex too I suppose, but spin burns more calories. And you know this. But cut to now when everyone is twerking and working on their bikes and it kind of reminds me of the pool scene in "Showgirls". it makes me nervous. I just wanna ride, yo. You may recall another post I wrote on Soul Cycle, so my history with it is fraught, to say the least.  Not to mention the ill at ease feeling one gets while watching a bunch of rich white people gyrating to the Wu Tang Clan while candles burn.  I know right? I hate myself. I love myself. It's a toss up.

Yes I know spin and sex and Nomi Malone (there she is above in all her glory) are a tough map to draw. Whatever, weirdo. But there are more parallels than you think, because here's what happened to me in a recent class.

Teacher with the tats was blasting "American Idiot" and I was getting in the zone. I wasn't looking around at the crazy movements, I was just doing my own thing and finding my vibe. But then something happened that was mortifying. All the lights in the room went on. And Noa announced my bike number and name on the bike- "HEY BIKE 37, SHERI ROSENBERG, CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR 100TH CLASS"! And then I got enthusiastic claps from all the showgirls and I wanted to die. Right there. Because if you know me, you know that calling my name out in the middle of anything, let alone a spin class, is the absolute worst. Plus my tee shirt had a big coffee stain on it. Horrible. Oh and that 100th class? I think that's a lifetime achievement award. I have literally done 3 classes in a year, and that's the truth. So who even knows how they track that shit. What kind of narcissist likes to be called out like that? I can't. I just can not. Sure it's a nice thing to do, just don't do it to me. Ever.

Soon the class got back to normal, but I did not. I couldn't shake being called out, and I never got over turning the lights on in the middle of a sprint like that. Because at this point in my life, everything physical is better with the lights off. And you know this. Because I'm no showgirl. And can you imagine someone turning the lights on in the middle of sex? How jarring would that be?  Let alone the yelling. Keep those lights low, please. Resume pearl clutch. Some things are just better in the dark, without a reminder of how long you've been doing them.

Cause that's what's up this darkly soulful Friday in the 718. Yours, in sex and spin and broke dreams. XO