I have to say, dragging my butt along to the gym is not always easy after a full day of phone calls, emails, people, emails, meetings, and did I mention emails? I have a common tactic of getting caught up in a conversation at work just long enough to miss the class I was going to (apparently there are no options other than classes at my gym). The simple fact I forget time and time again is how bloody fantastic I feel after going. I feel like I could conquer the world one treadmill at a time. Move over Jane Fonda, check out my hot cross buns!!
Today my constitutional of choice was Spin, which in essence is forty-five minutes of cycling that leaves you quivering in a pool of your own sweat, and a little of the person’s beside you. There happens to be a track in this class that I am particularly fond of: Maniac. In my fuzzy-minded exhaustion, I’ve often contemplated shoving the instructor off the stage and ripping out that classic Flashdance scene. Don’t worry, the instructor would be fine. Not only is he very fit and agile, his padded shorts provide a soft landing platform for his bum.
The aforementioned song has a knack for making me spin my legs off in a way that Barbie simply could not manage. Flying like the speed of light, yet technically going no where, I felt I could have overtaken every row ahead of me in a blaze of over-sized jumper and leotard bottoms. I feel I should mention that I was only the living embodiment of Jennifer Beals in my head, but that is entirely beside the point.
But seriously, if we are talking about getting happy, exercise would have to be one of the best ways of improving your mood. If you have ever pushed yourself past that initial burn and reached the euphoria that only comes with this kind of exercise, you will know what I mean. Today, I could have gone on and on until I fell off my spin bike a la Bridget Jones.
I think there is an important point to consider here, however. You do need to enjoy what you are doing just a little bit. That doesn’t necessarily mean enjoying the hours of debate with yourself. Or other people’s stinky feet. Or the eye-full of someone else boob you accidentally got in the change room. Those things no one can enjoy unless of course you are a male lawyer with a foot fetish. The point is that I’m not sure I would get quite the same feeling if I were jogging or rock climbing. I just don’t enjoy those things. But give me an aerobics room or something to punch and I’m a jumping, kicking maniac!
Be warned: what follows is the red, puffy, sweaty phlegm monster, but it’s all part of the magic my friend. If only modern society would still accept the wearing of leg warmers and leotards, I would be as happy as a pig on a spin bike.