The Spinning Stampede

Don’t even think about it – you can’t win – those girls have it got it down. I didn’t even get upset this morning when I failed to make the list for the eighty seventh time this year. They looked at me without pity – only the victorious post battle glow. The spin class list opens 15 minutes before the class starts and for the popular ones you gotta get there – well actually I don’t know – probably the night before. You better ask the sisterhood – they’re always there – always on the same bike smiling that “ha – we’re so smug and we’ve raised 2 ugly pretentious trustafarian children and the husband ditched me for a younger model and you dare even look at me the wrong way and i’ll rip every last hair from the crack of your arse with my teeth” . In fact it’s a blessed relief that I missed it again – maybe I do it subconsciously because Matron Mary and her cronies have got all the good spots sewn up and I invariably end up tucked away between Chubby Charlie and Grunting Gary – so the eyes get hairy butt cheek central and not much else for an hour while the ears get hippo snot creation. Oh the joy of running – that’s why I’m doing it I remind myself.

These spinning stampede victors – what’s the point when they sit there making crapping faces when the spinmeister implores us to turn it up a gear to level 8 and they blatantly haven’t ever moved it from level minus 4. What are they doing ? Trying to get fit or maybe lose some weight but no they have nothing left for the class after all that energy to get on the fucking list. Come on girls – you’re gonna have to sweat – week after week , same seat, same class getting bigger – STOP – you’re cheating – go and have Big Mac. I may not be the best spinner in the world and yes I know I resemble a new born giraffe when we’re doing jumps but I bloody well work it and one class is my limit – these lard asses – they mince out 2 minutes from the end and start queuing for class two – no kidding – they think they’re Olympic class crappers and want to show us the full array. Look you’re just fucking cheating – just like you did in PE at school – we know you – declare period pains 3 times a month to the shy PE teacher who never thought to quiz you and buses in the middle of the cross country – nothing’s changed. But hey – it doesn’t bother me ..... much.

I should just leave it alone – leave the spinning to the delusionists and the freaks – you know the ones 7% bodyfat, buns of steel and back, sack and crack – but I can’t ‘cos I’m preparing to run. Oh how I wish I could just run but apparently dumpy here hasn’t got the physique for it – triffic doc - how come Ron Hill (ancient running legend) has run every day for forty years and I get an arthritic hip after twice a week for a year? Yep, my physique isn’t that of a runner – you know all sinewy ,tight and ugly. I know this from two reliable sources 1. My physio – thanks Paddy Mcginty – who suggested I take up swimming (yeah cos that’s really like running isn't it? Feckin Eejit!) and 2. My mum who thinks I should just walk. Love you mum but walking for twenty years whilst devouring 30 Marlboro and the odd glass of the back stuff is what got me to the morbidly obese state in the first place. By the way that morbidly obese terminology is rubbish – ok so I weighed a couple of hundred pounds but the travelling doughnut salesman or whatever he was called (Neil Boyd) on America’s Got Talent – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W8oR91K7gZ8&feature=related - now he’s morbidly obese. So come on docs –get a better classification please – I’m happy with “fat b*stard” if it helps any.

I ignored them all and I ran 8 days out of ten and then I couldn't run for a month so I've resorted to doing what I’m told – cross training, squats, lunges, bridges and other butt strengthening exercises that are oh so attractive on a tubby chap of a certain age. l’ve aready confessed my addiction and love/ hate of running so if I want to keep it up I am consigned to the gym hamster routine and queueing with my menopausal friends. Roll on park running on Saturday – I get to fight with the dog owners instead. Don’t even start me on that one!

BelfastBoyRuns
http://www.belfastboyruns.blogspot.com/