After an unexpectedly nice 5-mile run on Tuesday, my first back at altitude, I knew I had to find some equally satisfying cross-training on Wednesday. And I couldn't quite face dealing with the rowing machine or the swimming pool yet. What I wanted was a sweat-soaked spin class with lots of good music.
With Tammy's class over until the fall, I had to look beyond my beloved (and affordable) rec center. Lo and behold! I still had the pass to Flatiron Athletic Club that Christine gave me for my birthday back in January. This club has a spin class at 6 a.m. on Wednesdays, and since the pass was set to expire at the end of this month, I decided there was no time like the present.
Knowing what I do about Flatiron's running clientele, I was prepared to find that all of my classmates there would look like Lance Armstrong and his female equivalent. I arrived early, wearing long black yoga pants and a black shirt so as to fade nicely into the background, and entered the former racquetball court that they've converted to a spin studio. The lights were dim, and only two other people were there: the instructor (a cut guy in biking shorts named Dave) and another more mortal-looking guy (wearing cotton clothes) already on a bike warming up. So far, I didn't feel too intimidated. I climbed on my bike (in the back row of course, and away from mirrors) and got going.
Other people trickled in, until in the end there were about 14 people. I was one of only three women (both, of course, more fit-looking than I; I told myself I could take them in a running race), and one of only two people NOT wearing those special clip-in biking shoes. The music, despite a track at the beginning that disturbingly resembled something Smoove B might choose, ended up being really good. Two songs were ones I'd heard Tammy play. Especially relevant after my bad run last Saturday was "I Get Knocked Down, But I Get Up Again" by Chumbawamba. My favorite among the new songs was a fast Cajun number with an accordion.
After the class, I weaved my way through the lounge area and juice bar, where well-heeled retirees with rackets and yoga mats were reclining, to the front desk to ask how much it is for non-members to drop in to classes. The answer, unfortunately, was that you have to pay the $20 daily drop-in fee. Not gonna happen. So I am hoarding one more pass...for the next time I really need a spin class.
Seen in Boulder: The same day, I also hauled my children, who together weigh about 75 pounds, up the mesa to their preschool in our bike trailer. On the way, I saw a 50-something man with a salt-and-pepper beard walking his dog on the bike trail. And he was wearing a Boston Marathon jacket. I recognized the green trim and the unicorn logo instantly.
My dad used to say that seeing cardinals on our lawn was a good omen for our favorite baseball team, the St. Louis Cardinals (this wasn't always true). Could spotting that gent been a good omen for me?