Erik is out of the office this week, so we're reprinting a column from 10 years ago.
After the new year started, I looked down at my stomach and realized I had broken last year's resolution. And the year before that. And the year before that.
"I'm going to exercise more this year," I vowed yet again, only this time I meant it. Not like all those other times I meant it though.
I had been an avid bicycle racer for more than eight years when I was a teenager, so I was sure I could easily whip myself back into shape if I could hop back on the old horse. So I drove down the street to my local gym to fulfill my new promise.
"I want a gym membership," I said to the guy at the front desk.
"Great," he said. "We've got a one year, five year, and a lifetime membership."
"Hold on there, Sparky. I'm not one to rush into commitment. Do you have anything shorter?"
Sparky gave me a look usually reserved for people who use the sauna to warm up their cinnamon rolls.
"We have a one week trial. Give that a shot, and if you like it, we'll set you up with something longer."
"Sounds great. Do you have any of those pedaling classes?"
"Uh, I think you want the Sales Training Institute."
"Not peddling, Sparky, pedaling. Like a bike."
"Oh, you mean spinning," he said with a sniff.
"Yeah, whatever."
"You're in luck. We've got one starting in 15 minutes. But I have to warn you, Brigitte can be a real taskmaster."
"Not to worry, son. I was riding 40 miles a day when you were still falling off your trikey."
I found the locker room, changed into my old riding gear, and made my way into the spinning room.
A muscular young woman, Brigitte, was pedaling a stationary bike at the front of the room, while a group of men and women of various fitness levels were slowly spinning away.
"Let me guess, you're Erik," said Brigitte.
"Yep, how'd you guess?"
"Geoff said you used to race years ago. I saw your shiny lycra spandex outfit and guessed it was you."
"I wore this in college. It was my lucky racing outfit."
"Uhh, I don't know if lycra is supposed to be stretched that much. Can you breathe alright?"
"Sure," I said, taking a deep breath. I heard a few seams pop, so I let it out quickly. I walked to an empty bike behind a somewhat large woman and prayed she wasn't gassy. As I mounted my bike, I heard another small tearing sound. As snug as my outfit was, I hoped it was my hamstring and not my shorts.
"Okay class, here we go," shouted Brigitte. As we started pedaling away, I flashed back to my college days when we battled fierce headwinds mile after grueling mile.
"Erik, what are you doing?!" Brigitte hollered.
I raised up. "Drafting. Good riders draft to conserve energy. With Gertrude up there, I'll be fresh as a daisy."
Gertrude turned around and glared at me.
"Alright, class, hill time!" Brigitte shouted. "Out of the saddle and attack that hill."
We stood up and cranked hard. I adopted the traditional side-to-side rocking motion that racers use to speed up hills. The guy next to me stared, mouth agape.
"Good riders rock their bikes like this to get up hills faster, Chester," I told him.
"So why are you doing it?"
I ignored his snide comment, and assumed the tuck position and coasted.
"No resting, Erik! Keep pedaling," hollered Brigitte.
"I reached the top first, so I'm coasting down the hill to conserve energy."
"We're not at the top yet."
"Maybe you're not, but I am. You all ride like a bunch of tourists."
"Stand up and pedal."
Chester snickered. I decided to show him how we dealt with troublemakers back in The Day.
"Brigitte, this guy keeps leaning on me," whined Chester.
"I'm showing Chester how to ride in a pack," I said, innocently. "It can get pretty hairy in there, especially in a race. We can't all draft off Gertrude."
Gertrude glared at me again. "One more crack like that and I'll shove your seat-—"
"That's enough. We're here to ride, not to argue. And we're certainly not racing. You need to take this seriously, Erik."
"I am taking it seriously. I'm wearing my helmet and everything."
"Yeah, that's another thing I wanted to talk to you about."
Photo credit: TheReady199 (Wikimedia Commons, Creative Commons 3.0)
You can find my books Branding Yourself
(affiliate link), No Bullshit Social Media, and The Owned Media Doctrine
on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Books-A-Million, or for the Kindle or Nook.
After the new year started, I looked down at my stomach and realized I had broken last year's resolution. And the year before that. And the year before that.
"I'm going to exercise more this year," I vowed yet again, only this time I meant it. Not like all those other times I meant it though.
I had been an avid bicycle racer for more than eight years when I was a teenager, so I was sure I could easily whip myself back into shape if I could hop back on the old horse. So I drove down the street to my local gym to fulfill my new promise.
"I want a gym membership," I said to the guy at the front desk.
"Great," he said. "We've got a one year, five year, and a lifetime membership."
"Hold on there, Sparky. I'm not one to rush into commitment. Do you have anything shorter?"
Sparky gave me a look usually reserved for people who use the sauna to warm up their cinnamon rolls.
"We have a one week trial. Give that a shot, and if you like it, we'll set you up with something longer."
"Sounds great. Do you have any of those pedaling classes?"
"Uh, I think you want the Sales Training Institute."
"Not peddling, Sparky, pedaling. Like a bike."
"Oh, you mean spinning," he said with a sniff.
"Yeah, whatever."
"You're in luck. We've got one starting in 15 minutes. But I have to warn you, Brigitte can be a real taskmaster."
"Not to worry, son. I was riding 40 miles a day when you were still falling off your trikey."
I found the locker room, changed into my old riding gear, and made my way into the spinning room.
A muscular young woman, Brigitte, was pedaling a stationary bike at the front of the room, while a group of men and women of various fitness levels were slowly spinning away.
"Let me guess, you're Erik," said Brigitte.
"Yep, how'd you guess?"
"Geoff said you used to race years ago. I saw your shiny lycra spandex outfit and guessed it was you."
"I wore this in college. It was my lucky racing outfit."
"Uhh, I don't know if lycra is supposed to be stretched that much. Can you breathe alright?"
"Sure," I said, taking a deep breath. I heard a few seams pop, so I let it out quickly. I walked to an empty bike behind a somewhat large woman and prayed she wasn't gassy. As I mounted my bike, I heard another small tearing sound. As snug as my outfit was, I hoped it was my hamstring and not my shorts.
"Okay class, here we go," shouted Brigitte. As we started pedaling away, I flashed back to my college days when we battled fierce headwinds mile after grueling mile.
"Erik, what are you doing?!" Brigitte hollered.
I raised up. "Drafting. Good riders draft to conserve energy. With Gertrude up there, I'll be fresh as a daisy."
Gertrude turned around and glared at me.
"Alright, class, hill time!" Brigitte shouted. "Out of the saddle and attack that hill."
We stood up and cranked hard. I adopted the traditional side-to-side rocking motion that racers use to speed up hills. The guy next to me stared, mouth agape.
"Good riders rock their bikes like this to get up hills faster, Chester," I told him.
"So why are you doing it?"
I ignored his snide comment, and assumed the tuck position and coasted.
"No resting, Erik! Keep pedaling," hollered Brigitte.
"I reached the top first, so I'm coasting down the hill to conserve energy."
"We're not at the top yet."
"Maybe you're not, but I am. You all ride like a bunch of tourists."
"Stand up and pedal."
Chester snickered. I decided to show him how we dealt with troublemakers back in The Day.
"Brigitte, this guy keeps leaning on me," whined Chester.
"I'm showing Chester how to ride in a pack," I said, innocently. "It can get pretty hairy in there, especially in a race. We can't all draft off Gertrude."
Gertrude glared at me again. "One more crack like that and I'll shove your seat-—"
"That's enough. We're here to ride, not to argue. And we're certainly not racing. You need to take this seriously, Erik."
"I am taking it seriously. I'm wearing my helmet and everything."
"Yeah, that's another thing I wanted to talk to you about."
Photo credit: TheReady199 (Wikimedia Commons, Creative Commons 3.0)
You can find my books Branding Yourself
on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Books-A-Million, or for the Kindle or Nook.