Commitment.

About 2 months ago, my good friend Ana got me a Guest Pass to her gym and swore to me I would love the spinning class she goes to. Ana is 39, and doesn't look a day over 30, and probably has better legs than I do. The woman is solid, yet still feminine. (Have you seen that picture of Madonna floating around on the internets? Where her veins are bulging? Grossssss.)

Anyway, since I'm aiming to be more healthy in general; i.e. have not touched one cigarette - my vice when life gets stressful - in 5 weeks, not drinking sodas or brewskies, and taking in lots of H2O and watching how much I'm eating, etc., I figured I'd try out this "amazing" spinning class.

I went. And I suffered. This is a photo of the actual high-tech spin room at Club Fitness. It was a bit intimidating, but knowing that I had lost 50 pounds, and in between having gained a few back and wanting to lose those creeper-uppers again, I was a-okay in the confidence department, which to me is the first challenge. 

I began the class looking like this, ready to pounce on my spin bike and kick the hour's behind, and mine too while in the process. 

I ended the session practically unable to walk. The instructor took no prisoners. When she thought the class was slacking, she got out her whistle and started screaming at us. "Resistance, UP!" "Faster!" "I want to see you WORK!" By the end, my shirt was soaked, my hair a wet mess, my make-up had melted off about 10 minutes in, and I found out that after this hour-long class, I had burned 800 calories. I LOVED it.

But I waited a month or so to join. The last thing I needed was an impulsive gym membership to add to the month's expenses, and then never go. Which has pretty much been my relationship with gyms ever since kids entered the picture. But Club Fitness thought of that, and has free child care. Okay, great selling point. But would I still go?

Before joining, I started running. Since the only time I really had to myself was after Manny got home from work, I did dinner and clean up, and then put the kids in bed, I found myself running the neighborhood around 8:30 or 9 every night. Next to my iPod was my mace. There had to be something better, and I couldn't quit thinking about how this one-hour spin class kicked my butt so hard that I craved it again.

So I finally did it. I joined. And you know what? I've been going! I've been to five spin classes in a week and a half, and the scale is starting to - ever so slowly, but nonetheless - budge! I was so happy with my newfound success at actual commitment until I got a call from Dennis, a trainer at the gym. Do all trainers have to speak with such authority? He was calling to schedule my free training session. 

Whoa whoa whoa.... I committed to spinning, and an occasional boot camp class and ab exercises... An actual training session? Where he's going to take my measurements, my weight, my Body Mass Index, and then kick my ass on weights and cardio? I don't think I'm ready for this kind of commitment. 

Alas, tomorrow morning, I go in. Instead of looking toward it with absolute dread and the slight temptation to throw up my dinner for the sake of these damned measurements, I'm looking forward to it... I loved working out in high school and the first few years of college. I quit when my working out was replaced with going out, and obviously that does not go so kindly on the belt loops. 

Hopefully Dennis really puts me through the wringer. My attitude towards all of this is, I'm putting in the time, I want a great butt-kicking work out. When that spinning instructor got out that whistle and I peddled harder and faster as ever, I imagined myself as Lance Armstrong's wingman on the Tour de France, and years of pint up aggression came flying out. I beat the crap out of that bike. I couldn't walk much the next day, but I was happier. And in some sense, felt a little lighter. In my shoes, and in my shoulders. 

Let's see if I'll be the saying same thing after tomorrow. Dennis, meet Stefanie. Stefanie, meet Dennis.