Day 24: Never have I ever... taken a spinning class

The dark, sweaty cave of spin

I am trying to get myself in better shape. In the six months leading up to my blog (which many of you know were some of my, ahem, toughest ever), I never exercised, gave into daily carb cravings, and next thing I know, I'm winded by climbing two flights of stairs. I've done pretty well by my health in 2011, but I want to keep exploring new activities that will keep me engaged and committed to exercising. 

I thought spinning would be a perfect fit. I love bikes! And I like the format of group exercise classes, mainly because you're peer-pressured into not quitting. So today, with water bottle and towel in tow, I hit the New York Sports Club 6:30 p.m. spinning class. Here's how it went: 

6:30  Instructor arrives. The room lights are turned off, save for some red & green mood lighting. Thumping club music is pumped through the speakers. Instructor mounts his bike.  
6:33 Warm up pedaling; It's warming. 
6:35  Instructor shouts garbled commands. Pedal faster? Sweating. Like, beads of sweat. 
6:38  No one seems fazed that instructor shouts inaudible commands.
6:40 A loud shout makes everyone stand up and pedal. 
6:41  Return to seat. Heart pounding. Guzzle some water.
6:43  Dear Lord, I'm sweating. 
6:45  Standing again. Turn resistance up. Pedaling to music's rhythm. Get in groove. 
6:55  Why are we still standing and pedaling and when is he going to let us sit down??!?! 
6:56  Sit; Guzzle more water. Room now has a stifling sweaty stink. Woman next to me is wearing a strong deodorant or perfume. Need fresh air. Should have put on antiperspirant. Tell self to ignore smells, including self-smell. 
7:00  There is no way I'm going to make it 25 more minutes. 
7:02  Water is gone. 23 minutes left. Can you die of dehydration in 23 minutes? 
7:05  He wants us to stand again. Ugggghhhhh. Ok, upsy daisy. 
7:12  Long set of standing is slightly easier. Keep groove consistent. Ignore instructor's possible commands to pedal faster. 
7:15  Sit down. Oh thank God. 
7:16  Cool down. Instructor slowly brings pace down. Class is panting and dripping. 
7:20  Instructor shouts something. Everyone stops pedaling. We're done?! But there's five minutes of this sweatfest left? I'm relieved, but also disappointed because I was prepared to pedal to the bitter end. 
7:21  Instructor leads 5 minute cool down session, and my muscles cry for help. 
7:25  Face is bright red (see below). I'm sweating through my shirt. I feel great. 

My beet-red face post-class

Status: Though I love biking, spinning isn't a "fun" workout. But it's a darn good one. Along with everyone else, I spent most of the class watching the clock obsessively. These are some long minutes, 55 of them. I would definitely do it again, as it torched calories and gets me in much better shape for bike season which is just around the bend. But the difference between biking and spinning, is that you bike to get from point A to point B, so there's a sense of adventure, of travel. Plus, my point B is usually involves pizza or ice cream or tacos or beer, and the promise of any of those makes an equivalent ride go much more quickly. Guilt propels the ride home. 


Results: Success! (ok... fine. I sat down about a minute early on one of the long-standing sets. dock me.) 

Day 18: Never have I ever... ZUMBAed!

The tagline for Zumba really cracks me up. Ditch the workout. Join the party!

I did it! I joined the smelly, sweaty, awkward party yesterday! 

Before heading over to the New York Sports Club to check out their Tuesday Zumba class, all I knew about this trendy workout craze was this: It's a workout to Latin music. And all the ladies in the Bally's commercials are smiling and shimmying and have really nice butts. 

When I arrived, I surveyed my Zumbamates. All female. (Not surprised.) But still, it was a diverse bunch. Young and old. Thin and not-so-thin. Black, white, Cuban and Asian....  It was a real life Will Smith song! 

The instructor, Shelly, immediately blasted very loud Latin music and waved us inside the large space, mirrors to our front, glass wall to our backs. She bellowed "Let's practice! Follow me!" and started dancing. Um, where's the instruction? Oh. There is none. This was a watch-and-learn kind of class. I wasn't aware of this at the time, but she was teaching us the steps that we'd later do in "the dances". This was our warm-up. It was warming. 

Her only demand was that she wanted us to clap after every dance so she "could feel the energy". She also said, "follow me, and if you can't get the steps, just SHAKE IT!!"  And of course these comments made me giggle a little bit. With that, we were off. The music was very energizing, indeed. The steps were fairly simple, if a little silly and whimsical. Lots of prancing. It required a good deal of hip+foot+arm coordination that I found challenging. Having taken ballet lessons for more than 10 years as a child/teenager, and then hip-hop classes as an adult, I'm familiar with how to learn dance steps quickly. I was able to get the sequences easily after a 4-count of missteps. And the format of Zumba is repetitious, so you have a few tries to get it right. 

The most unfortunate part of this class was the floor-to-ceiling mirror directly in front of us. For Zumba, which is more about exercise than perfecting the steps or the form, I would have preferred to not see my awkward, flailing reflection. I tried to focus on Shelly's form and not watch my own. But occasionally I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I looked like a wounded stork. 

Luckily, the rest of my classmates were no more graceful than I. Save for a tall girl who danced directly in front of me. She clearly Zumbas with frequency. But there was no art in her steps; only precision. She knew all the steps immediately, and perfected the "shake".  Oh, what's the shake? Well, Zumba occasionally involves shaking one's ass violently from side to side with forceful hip motions. There are also lots of forward hip thrusts. Does this make one's butt cheeks firmer? Rounder? I don't know. It sure feels like ridiculous motions to perform in front of others. But all I know is that after an hour of dancing behind the tall girl with the good shake, her ass was inspiring. 

Results: Zumba is fun! And a great workout, I was sweating. I still prefer the art and skill of hip-hop dance classes, but I'd happily Zumba again. I just need to work on looking less like a limping bird and more like a Latin princess. 

Status: Success! 

Day 13: Never have I ever.... skied a double-black-diamond

Most avid skiers have blazed down double-blacks all over the Rockies, the Sierra Nevadas, maybe even the Alps. But not me. I'm a pansy. I stick to my blues and zig-zap happily down the mountain, sometimes I even like to sing as I ski. I'm not exactly a mountainside daredevil. See, I'm fond of my face, and all four of my limbs. And I've heard one too many horror stories (Friend A broke his leg last year in Wyoming. Friend B required medical heli-transport in order to survive her skiing accident. Friend C broke his arm and leg, requiring six permanent pins in his bones. Need I go on?) I just don't care to ever know how it feel to ride down the mountain on one of those red sled-gurneys. 

Warning: Ski Patrol's last sweep is 3PM. If you ski this trail 

after 3PM  and become injured, you will  not be rescued, 

and will  likely die  alone overnight on the side of a 

freezing cold mountain. Happy Skiing!

But, I went skiing out in Utah this year. And it was gooooood. Thigh-deep powder. 50 inches in four days. Trails called "Mystic Pines" that literally made me weep. Constant falls, near-constant fear. Runs so long, I had to stop seven times on the way down. And when I ski east coast mountain, the blues suddenly feel  like greens. The blacks were like blues. I'm not really challenged? This is strange. So, since I was skiing with some trés advanced skiers that day, I felt the confidence to go for broke. (no bones.)

So, I saw the double-black-diamond trail called "Outrage" and thought.... I want to be Outraged! I'll do it! Down the wooded, steep, mogul-y trail I went.

Results: My form was terrible. The trail skied me. But, I was in control about 90% of the time, and the other 10%, I was lucky enough not to crash or fall.

Status: Success! 

Day 2: Never have I ever... Bouldered.

I've heard Boulder is a lovely city. Legend has it that it's the jewel of the Rockies: a postcard-worthy town against snow-capped mountains, packed with shaggy-haired folks who bathe infrequently.... an irresistible trifecta! Luckily for likeminded New Yorkers, there is a headquarters for this type within city limits. Brooklyn Boulders, abbreviated BKB for those in the know. (I'm not in the know.) 

I've wanted to try out BKB since it opened last year, and I even had a $5 off coupon sitting in my desk. But it wasn't until my friend Ethan provided me with the impetus to go that I finally made it through the door. And by impetus, I should say awkward self-invitation. You see, we were at his birthday party discussing a good date to meet up with some friends. The interaction went something like this:
Me: So, are you free this Monday, the 31st? 
Ethan: Ah, I can't, I'm going rock-climbing with my friend Chris on Monday. (points to Chris a few feet away) 
Me: Ooooh! Rock climbing!! Where are you guys going?! In the city?? 
Ethan: (calling to Chris) We're going to Brooklyn, right? 
Chris: Yep. 
Me: Ooooh! Brooklyn Boulders!? I've heard that place is great!  I've been meaning to check it out! 
Ethan: Yeah, well, Chris goes a lot, I think he likes it. 
Me: Really?! That's so cool! Um, could I maybe come with you guys? I mean, would that be OK? I mean, if you guys want to just hang out just the guys, I totally understand, but if I'm not crashing the party then maybe I could come and, yeah, I really like rock climbing, it would be fun, um...
I don't need to keep going, do I? You get the idea. Ethan graciously encouraged me to come, despite my clumsy breach of social protocol. He didn't even make me feel like an overexcited asshole about it. Which I kinda was.

So that's the story of how I ended up at Brooklyn Boulders at 8:30pm on a Monday night.

BKB is the mecca for cool, urban hippie-types. Overlooking the fact that the entire, gi-normous establishment is seasoned with eau de B.O., the vibe of the place is laid-back and non-judgmental. The staff was familiar and competent, and the place was PACKED. Mind you, it was freezing cold Monday night in late January. I can only imagine how crowded it must be on weekends...

I have climbed many times before in my past, so climbing in itself isn't a new experience for me. In college, we had a free climbing gym on campus, and my high school was even lucky enough to have a climbing wall right in our gymnasium. But that was all top-rope climbing. With a harness and taut rope attached to one's pelvis, you have security. Actually, falling is fun. You swing back and forth suspended in air. It's like the circus!

But this bouldering business was new to me. Bouldering, for those who don't know, is a style of climbing without a rope and on lower walls over a crash pad. If you fall, you fall. The walls are only about 15' high, so falling wouldn't kill you, even if you were landing on hard ground. But would you want to jump out of a second story window?

On my first attempt (on a V0, the lowest level), I slipped reaching for the second set of holds. Lame. To add insult to more insult, all of the cool, urban-hippie-types scrambled up the much-tougher nearby walls like it was no big thang. I sheepishly looked back to Ethan and Chris and asked if we could start on a wall that didn't have an inverted angle.

From our newly-selected wall spot, I began to hit a stride. Chris pointed out some good routes for me. I silently instructed myself to chill out and ignore the fear of falling. A few half-successes up the wall later, I felt my beginner skills coming back to me. My moves were by no means pretty, but hey, I was climbing.

Finally, I made it to the top! It was then that I realized how friggin' high this "short" wall was. I looked down, clung to the wall, and hollered "So, guys...what now? I just have to jump?" I was freaked out. Chris told me I could jump, or climb down a bit. I chose the latter, and then jumped to safety on the marshmallowy crash pad below.

Yep, there it was. That same feeling I used to love: the jello-jigglers legs sensation. Like your knees have started yodeling. I'm not sure how else to explain it... but if you know what I mean, you know exactly what I mean.

We played around on the boulders for about two hours. I succeeded on two or three routes, and made valiant attempts at many others, including a "fun one" (as labeled by Chris) where you start clinging to the wall, almost horizontally, and then climb up to a vertical position. I failed miserably. Moments later, the friendly staff member who gave me a free climbing shoe rental came along and Spiderwomaned it.

Ethan and Chris* both did much better than me, but they are muscly boys and I'm just a tiny little woman. I asked the very nimble Chris how long he had been climbing, expecting his response to be in years. Turns out he's only been bouldering twice a week since November. (NOVEMBER?!?) Evidence that regular practice and dedication brings great reward, sometimes even speedily.

Results: A lot of laughs with two fun people, a reinvigorated interest in climbing, and one very sore body today. (My quads and arms are aching!)

Status: Success-ish

*Huge thanks to both for letting me tag along, coaching me up, and pretending that I didn't completely suck at it.

Day 1: Never have I ever.... Gone snowshoeing!

I love the fluffy white stuff. It's so purty. I usually appreciate the snow in one of two ways: 1) zooming down a groomer, or 2) watching it fall gently through the window as I sip cocoa next to the fire. See, I don't really like to be cold. I hate it, in fact. So it's safe to say you won't find me as winter outdoorsman without a Thermos full of whine.

But yesterday I strapped on some stainless steel 26" snowshoes and traversed 2.5 miles of the deep, snowy trails of Caleb Smith State Park Preserve on Long Island. I embarked on this expedition with D.Coops and his parents (who benevolently provided us with all our 'shoeing gear, and then whizzed ahead like agile gazelles on X-country skis). It was an easy skill to master, though getting the "right" stride took some experimentation. Due to our most recent blizzy, the blanket was 3' high, which really added to the cool-factor. It wasn't quite the graceful picture I'd imagined (us gliding across the top of a great expanse of the snow like Jesus on the Sea of Galilee,) the shoes and poles sunk in about 3-4 inches and we plodded along slowly and clumsily in our enjoyment.

Terribly unflattering photo of too-large snow clothes.
Dave eating a yellow snowball. 

Result: A stunningly beautiful winterscape and a surprisingly good workout! We wove our way around a winding creek, snow-covered trees, and pristine white meadows, and appreciated a glimpse of winter wildlife (fine, some ducks). Overall, it was a great new way to enjoy the outdoors in winter.  Being cooped up all season isn't good for our bods, and my lungs appreciated a few hours of crisp, fresh air. I'm not kidding about the good workout part, either. 90 minutes of this strange, new motion was exhausting! About 1.5 miles in, I tried to bitch out by taking the short route, but my snowbuddy kept me motivated and we did the full loop. I'm so glad we did.

Status: Success!