I hate you Angie.

I know, I know. "Hate" is a strong word. Let's downgrade to "loathe."

Now I just read Jared and David's post and feel a little bad about writing about something so trivial but I'm sharing it anyway. :)

So... I've been on the go, go go SO much that I have had a really hard time practicing my Ride music. (And we have new music to memorize by... well very soon.) So after my college fair followed by three hour drive (from ANC to Kenai), I decided to hit the local gym (emphasis on THE). My original plan was to practice my ride music but the spinning room was 5 minutes away from a class. So feeling ambitious, I go ahead and decide to take it. I'll practice after the class... no biggie. How hard can this be?

My first warning should have been when I heard Angie say, "I help people train for triathalons."

My second warning should have been when she said, (after 10 minutes) "ok, warm up is over!" ("what? That was the warm up?!" I thought wiping away a light sheen of sweat.)

What really made me face the music was when I heard, "All right, we're ALREADY halfway done!" That' odd, I thought. She couldn't have said that, we only have 15 minutes left and my legs feel like jell-o. (did you read the part about how busy I've been? I've been running but spinning and running are very different...) Well, seems like details are not my forte, because it then dawned on my that a class called "endurance beast" might, just MIGHT, be longer than 60 minutes. Now remember, the class I teach, start to finish (including the 4 minute stretch) is 55 minutes.

So I suck it up. 90 minutes, I can do this. whew. This is good. I've been needing this. But as the 2nd half started I noticed Angie's cheeriness started becoming a bit annoying. "This is so fun!" "Wow, this is hard! (said in-between singing and seemingly not even out of breathe.) "Anyone else's hamstrings burning?" "wow, only 20 minutes left!" All of these things I will try to never say again when I teach.

About 80 minutes into it I started looking around for people who were cheating so I too could cheat and not feel bad. There were none. These people were rocks. I then began to hope that my music (that might give me away as an instructor) was well hidden underneath my sweatshirt so no one would know I was a pansy. As luck had it, it was.

In the end, I did it. It felt good. But let's be honest. I cleaned my bike, attempted a few sit-ups and went home. No practice for me, just some humble pie. :)