I get to spin class early enough to get the BEST BIKE. The best bike is in the corner, so it’s not too near the bikes next to it. It’s ideally situated across from the mirrors so you can see the entire class. It’s situated such that you can totally check out the instructor, who is scathingly hot (and bald).
It’s also excellent to watch people.
There’s the 50-something lady with the little bike tattoo’d on her ankle, who cheers whenever intervals come up. There’s the skinny tall elderly man, who has clearly been doing this for a while; there’s the hottie who parks herself smack next to the mirrors and WATCHES HERSELF THE ENTIRE TIME. I can’t blame her, if I had that body I’d watch myself the entire time too. There’s the spin-class regular (tall, skinny) who overdoes everything and goes to fill her water bottle even at expense of his timely start. There’s the shorter, just-as-hot spin class regular (with his own official jerseys) who is attempting something with her and just discovered last Monday that she’s already got something (sort of, but not really) for the water-bottle-filler.
There’s the executive who hasn’t been in 2 months and yet expects nothing to have changed, there’s the overweight Microsoftian who is Doing Something About It. There’s the housewife who is there to keep in shape, and the one who just arrived on the scene to start keeping in shape. There’s the couple of college kids who can probably eat an extra 3 bowls of Lucky Charms with every meal as a result of this class, and there’s the elderly man whose Doctor has clearly told him to Do Something.
And then there’s me. I still sing to all the songs, and I’m sure it’s an eye-rolling thing for them.
Bobbie Conti 