An Open Letter of Apology to my Spin Class Instructor

Dear (I don’t remember what your name is but you look like Mr. Clean without the earring and are endearingly hot yet sadistic):

I regret to inform you I will not be making it to class this week. Yes, I know I was the person pestering for more intervals and insisting that you could totally use Lupe Fiasco’s “Go Go Gadget Flow” or Metric’s “Gold, Guns and Girls” in your audio provisions. I know I was the one singing along, in the back of the class, as you made us do jumps while on level 5 on a hill in one minute intervals. I even know I joined in mockery with you at the wimps who passed out of class after they busted their New Year’s resolutions a mere two weeks in.

I’d like to stress right now that this isn’t, really, my fault.

It’s the city of Seattle’s fault.

Being a cycling fiend, as you are, you know of the Burke Gilman trail. I’d wager you know it far more intimately than I, and I’ll wager that you know, for example, when to change to the other side of the trail along that particular stretch behind the Fred Meyer in Ballard. Sadly, I did not, so when faced with the alternatives of going straight (and into a gravel pit) or hanging left (into traffic and yet across railroad tracks) I opted for hanging a light left, in weird hopes that I’d just pop over the tracks and straighten out, as I can with my Rav 4.

By now you are sighing at my incompetence, although not nearly as much as I am. You see, as you may have figured out, my tire got wedged in the track.

And my leg got wedged in the bike frame.

This did not stop me from doing an elegant pirouette-cum-frontflip over the handlebars and landing, on my back with my head on asphalt, and my left leg woven intricately through my bike such that simply picking it up off of said leg was not an option.

There was, I am fairly certain, tumbling involved.

This however is academic as I have discovered something: you actually do see stars when you hit your head! Seriously! I was amazed and yet dazed. Little white lights everywhere and all swimmy, it was like a really bad laser light show. It presently faded and my comrade called the male person, who gave us a ride (me to the ER to get my brains checked, my comrade back to his car because I was not going to leave him to the wolves).

You’ll be happy to know the ER at Swedish Medical Center in Ballard is equipped with nice equipment and super-nice folks, I was in-and-out in about 2 hours all told. They didn’t mind me twittering my progress in the least.

However, I am sad to report that I have a welt that is about 8″ x 6″ on my left thigh. You won’t see it when I return to spin class, because it is covered by my shorts even; the doctor said it was a miracle I hadn’t fractured my hip (perhaps this was his way of telling me gently that I am aging?). I have lost most of the skin intended to cover my left knee and I don’t mind telling you had I known I was to be in such a situation I would’ve shaved more recently and paid more attention to my hair configuration.

I have also acquired miscellaneous odd bruises and other pain spots that neglected to show until now; perhaps they were intimidated by ‘big purple’ and all of its bluster. Naturally I declined any pain meds at the ER, thinking ibuprofen would be enough.

And I leave you on that happy note, sir, because I am essentially in as much if not more pain than I would be after your class.

2 thoughts on “An Open Letter of Apology to my Spin Class Instructor”

  1. […] speed and it is not easily and quickly controlled with braking. In fact if you brake hard you end up flying over your handlebars like some git who got her bike tire stuck in railroad tracks and then you end up in the ER paying a $250 deductible, $100 copay, and another 10% of the total […]

  2. […] What I’m getting to is, much like the person who “games” their watch by setting it 5 minutes fast, if we set the weekly goal to X+Y where X is the minimum required effort and Y is WWLD (What Would Lance Do), we are typically achieving X and sometimes achieving Xb (you know, halfway between X and Y). This is not bad on the whole, but I wonder at the psychology of it. If I was just “honest” with myself and said “ok, we’re doing 47 because that’s the minimum required this week (and it is)”, would I do the 47? Or would I suddenly cramp, or hit a wall, or fling myself over bicycle tracks? […]

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