Spinning. (Apparently not as gentle as it sounds.)

Looking around the gym, all I could see was sweaty, red faced victims who looked like they'd happily trample over their own grandmother if it meant there was an easier way to work off last night's lasagna. Peeking through the window on my left were men heaving giant weights onto their shoulders- hmm, probably not- and in the other room, a terrifying man wielding a megaphone at a mass of exhausted, windmill arms. No.

Suddenly, in front of me, I spotted some smiley people on bikes. Perfect. Everyone knows that exercising on a machine is easier. What I didn't spot was that the walls were soundproof and that, sauntering in to the warm up all jack-the-lad like, the ear shatteringly loud, German techno was masking people's groans of pain (and the occasional and frankly unnecessary 'whoop' from the instructor) and the smiles were actually grimaces of pain. Ah. Well, too late to back out now. I sidled onto my seat (ouch, these saddles were NOT made for people with normal sized bottoms) and started pedalling...

I will be honest, fellow bloggers, I did not immediately take to it like the proverbial duck. I was enjoying myself in a weird sort of sado-masochistic way, but I was huffing and puffing over my handlebars in a small wheezing lump, my eyes crossed as I grunted most unlady like through the session. For future reference- DO NOT choose to sit/collapse next to someone who is quite obviously a regular. (Ways to spot this include smooth legs- both boys and girls- professional cycling kit/trainers and an eager smile plastered over their face resembling that of Hitler's at a book burning.) The man and his giant muscles on my right was pedalling like billy-oh so I tried to take a leaf out of his book and use him as motivation. Well, I never knew you could have a heart beat in your head. I think in fact that's your body giving you a thump to warn you it's about to keel over but...

Anyway one hour later of sprints, climbs and several muttered voodoo curses from yours truly I surprised myself by being MILDLY DISAPPOINTED when the she-devil bought us to a stop. Truly. I was so flushed (no seriously, I was purple) with pride that I positively bounded out of the studio. (Actually I really wouldn't recommend bounding. Bambi legs is a very real consequence of post spinning and enthusiastically leaping off your bike only to collapse in a puddle on the floor does rather dent your gym rep.)

Well, that was about six weeks ago now and I've been two or three times a week since. Not bad, hey? (I'm the kind of person who ditches the diet three days in maintaining I'LL START NEXT MONTH, so this new found discipline is alarmingly refreshing.) I still want to throttle my instructor about seven minutes in and find any sort of climbing after utter torture- even my bed poses a worrying feat when I consider how on earth me and my jelly legs are going to clamber in- but once you hit your stride and find the beat to cycle to it becomes bizarrely enjoyable and I'd highly recommend it to all of you who want to eat fun, normal things (you want me to give up carbs?! Oh the horror...) and not live off celery and diet coke for eternity.