I’ve been slacking this week as far as updates go. I should be dragged out back and beaten with a reed. The reason is valid enough, however, as I’ve been very focused and rooted in getting Cycling Fusion up and running. We launched more of the site yesterday, and things are continuing to progress. There is still a very long road ahead in getting everything together, but at least now we’re seeing the route more clearly. A few great people have already been commenting and expressing their interest in helping with our mission, and that is splendiffertastic.

So back on track – two classes have come and gone so far this week. The first one was monday morning, and as far as my personal workout and progress go, there wasn’t really anything of note to mention. I performed and felt about the same as my first class. We rode to the bellowing sounds of musicals (each day has a theme around here), so that was enjoyable – even though in a 30-minute class there were two songs from Grease.

I’m a great lover of musicals, but let it be noted: I hate Grease.

Today’s class was the rip roaring sounds of Barry Manilow. How is that cycling music, you may ask? So may I. But it did the trick, as I amped up the effort a bit and still managed to keep my heart rate around the target range from the first two easier classes. A few drops of perspiration even formed on my neck for a second. I still haven’t gotten used to the tight diaper shorts, but hey… one bridge at a time.

In movies, especially in dramatic period pieces with intense love affairs and engaging stories, there is often a moment of deep impact that is emotionally expanded by art. The story’s climactic occurrence amplified visually by a reduction in frame rate. The heartbroken maiden clamoring over the body of her fallen soldier, silently screaming, dubbed over by a sad and lonely wind instrument or a somber piano. The old woman with her head bowed to the autumn grass, walking away as her life’s companion is lowered into the earth. A confusion of the senses, a muddy blend of conflicting feelings, unknowing whether the dominant emotion is fear, sadness, relief, or even love. This is how I viewed this morning – a moment of deep impact, emotionally expanded. Feeling awkward in brand new nylon-spandex thigh huggers, sitting bent over in a semi-broken office chair, I was mentally preparing for the arrival of my first 30-minute group Spin class. I felt just as trapped in a dramatic Hollywood apogee, and while I might not have lost the war, lost my love, or lost my mind – I waited, not knowing what the final descending chapters of today’s story would have in store for my fragile character.

Fine. I’m lying. That’s how I thought it would be. But in reality, and somewhat unfortunately (as it totally destroys the metaphor I was crafting), it wasn’t that bad at all.

I was going about my work here in the vault (Global Ride is in a former bank, I work in the vault) when Gene came in to tell me “it’s time.” I hoofed it to the men’s room and forced my legs through the very tight and forthright garment that is a pair of cycling shorts. The vault seems to have an unchangeable temperature of arctic lowness, so after dressing down to a t-shirt and stuffing my secrets into skin-hugging, leg-exposing bondage gear, I was freezing and actually somewhat anxious to exercise for the purpose of heating up. As if it’s not bad enough the shorts have a diaper built into them…

Gene fit me on the bike, got the gizmo gadgets on me to measure my rates, and I got ready to begin. He told me to keep my heart rate under 115 for the first few days of acclimation, for the sake of validity with our metabolic progress reports. Just looking at the bike put me at a rate of 110. That’s not true – it took at least a minute. Long story short, after 30 mins of cycling, I averaged 115. I rule. Ignore the fact that I was putting very little physical effort into the whole Spin session to maintain that heart rate. Apparently that’s alright, as it’s the right track for my development.

The class was 6-8 women and myself. Any one of them could likely kick me to death in a matter of seconds. After the class, Gene announced to all that it was my first class and instructed people to clap, claiming that humiliating newbies is “obligatory.” Surprisingly, he didn’t mention my oversized head or feet to the group.

All in all, you could say the first class was a success. I kept my rate where it should have been, got used to the bike, got a bit of exercise, and went through a new experience. I got through it with no problem and, once again, am surprised to find myself saying I don’t believe I’ll wake up paralyzed tomorrow. It feels good to be doing something for my health, and especially for my heart, because it seems it needs the workout. Seeing my heart rate amp up when I was hardly doing anything was troubling, yet there was satisfaction knowing that I’ve taken the first step to reversing it. My legs are probably the second most out of shape part of my body, so it’s a win-win of nearly epic Hollywood proportions.

This isn’t a somber, melodramatic story of love and loss after all. It’s a big, ridiculous, bombs and fire Michael Bay summer action flick. Trade in the weeping violins for a gatling gun.

Oh, there was one downside to the fairly easy exercise… When the class was over, I returned to my vault still cold.

As some French guy once said, “It doesn’t matter if the water is cold or warm if you’re going to have to wade through it anyway.”

Imagine sitting on a stone-hard seat of iron, hypodermic needles stabbing you in the forearms, a 40-pound plastic suit covering your entire body as you are forced to work, your head completely enclosed in a space helmet, the smell of stink and rot blowing against you, and a hairy-backed dungeon master clubbing you in the shins with an iron mace.

Oh, crap… I gave away that was an exaggeration. The dungeon master doesn’t come in on Tuesdays.

For serious, today was the metabolic exercise test. We’ll accept the word ‘test’ in its literal form for this one, as I actually had to saddle up on the old bike and chug away while breathing through the mask and tube. (You remember, the one for people with big heads). Turns out I have big feet, too. Being a small guy, I seem to be some kind of awesome proportional mutant.

For those who have never experienced an exercise metabolic test (I hate typing that, by the way, very awkward), it’s essentially taking the getup used in the “don’t fall asleep” test from the other day and wearing it while doing some simple Spinning. The intelligent and omniscient gizmo gadgets monitor your internal functions and tell you more about yourself in ten minutes than you could ever figure out on your own, presented in full color graphs on handy 8.5″x11″ inkjet paper.

We did have to do the test twice because I accidentally overexerted myself on the first go and threw off the machine. One point for me. On the second run, I focused and concentrated, pedaled as I was told to pedal, manipulated the resistance as I was told to manipulate it, tried to stay on level, and basked in the cooling zephyr of Gene’s “imported from Hawaii” air from the plastic fan mounted on the wall. About five minutes later, I set a new Global Ride record: shortest test time! The way I interpreted it, this record could also be read as “Most out of shape person to be given an exercise metabolic test at Global Ride.”

My anaerobic threshold hit somewhere in the fourth minute, if I recall correctly. My VO2 (which I’m told is a fancy way of saying lung capacity) was somewhere around 20, and apparently it’d be nice if it were double that. My heart rate peaked in the 120s and during recovery would only decrease by 5-7 bpm, which is about 75% slower than would be good. Numbers and figures aside, the test wasn’t too physically difficult – and despite all preconceptions I had, I don’t think I’m going to wake up paralyzed tomorrow.

That might happen after the first real Spin session. This little soiree was merely a prime time trailer for the real show, with a headline of “Coming Soon.”

The other day, I came into work with no breakfast, coffee, or other metabolism-altering substances messing with my system. I put down my laptop bag, took off my coat, and waited for my metabolic test to begin.

The purpose of the metabolic test, as I understand it, is to measure the number of calories per day that my body burns basically doing nothing – that is, the calories I require just to function through my daily sedentary rituals. It also helps trainers establish when your body reaches its anaerobic thresholds, and when it changes from burning fat to burning carbs. We would be conducting the test in the lower level of our facility, with a room specifically dedicated to the purpose.

“Test” is a word that is used loosely, as my only responsibility during the 15 minute session was to lay down on a comfortable couch and not fall asleep. A heart monitor is strapped across the chest to monitor heart rate, and an elastic airtight gas mask-looking unit is strapped around the head, with a small tube coming from the mouth section to breathe through.

“You sort of have a big head,” said Gene, my boss and owner of Global Ride, as he realized the breathing unit wouldn’t fit around my head went to the supply closet to get a new one that was larger. “I’ve never had to use this one before.” Thanks, Gene.

These two devices are not the most forgiving accessories when you’re attempting to get comfortable, but with the lights down low, ambient music playing, and a big soft couch full of pillows surrounding you, it’s not terribly difficult to relax. Breathe through your mouth, not your nose, in, out, in, out, listen to the machine scribble and calculate, in, out, in, out, scribble, calculate, it’s over.

Daily calories burned: 1771
Fuel mixture: 57% fat, 43% carbs.
BMI: 23 (a.k.a. “normal weight”)

It’s not particularly bad looking as far as numbers go. But again, there’s one point to stress in this blog: being fat and being fit aren’t parallel. I guarantee there are plenty of fat people in better shape than me. Burning 1771 calories per day doing relatively nothing is quite a few. Exercising is going to pump that up higher. During a 45-minute Spin session, people can burn anywhere from 500-700 calories. That’s quite a bit, buddy.

So that’s what I learned from the metabolic test. That, and I have an unusually large head. Hell yeah.

Don’t mess with the bull, you’ll get the horns.

I suppose introductions are in order. They probably should have happened in the first post, but hey, who cares about chronology? That’s not why people watch Pulp Fiction.

I’m Jeff. I have been for a good while now. I work here at Global Ride/Cycling Fusion on all things web-related. I’m also a guinea pig, attempting to reverse a lifetime of exercise apathy because I’ve developed a belief that Spinning® and its new technologies can improve my health… and that’s what has brought us together here.

So, hello.

This blog is about progress. This blog is about cycling. This blog is about using Spinning® to train. As part of the Cycling Fusion website, it is about understanding the REAL world of Spinning®, and how it can benefit the average person’s workout, as well as the training of experienced outdoor cyclists. And before I begin, with all that in mind, you need to understand my individual purpose:

My goal is not to get to the point where I can bench press the family car with one arm. I don’t particularly care if I can do more sit-ups than there are Baldwin brothers. I just want to be healthy. I want my body to work more efficiently. I haven’t felt fully awake since 1994, and I want to sleep better. I want my headaches to stop, and want to not be sore and cramped after I do anything that involves any level of physical activity. And I want to go about improving myself in the right way, with trained guidance, and with appropriate tools.

The last time I did any exercise for the sake of exercise, teenage girls everywhere were hanging up Titanic posters on their bedroom walls.

The last time I did any exercise for the sake of exercise, the Backstreet Boys were totally awesome.

I should also let you know what we’re starting with. I’m not morbidly obese, or even a little obese. In fact, if you didn’t know me, you’d probably think I’m in shape. It’s all due to a silver tongued liar called genetics, not reality. As of today, I stand at 5′7″ (a figure that hopefully won’t change) and 147 lbs. But I’m far from ‘fit’ as far as dictionaries, trainers, or English people would define the term.

Unless I’m wrong. Maybe huffing and puffing after a 20 second jog is normal. Maybe feeling worse when you wake up than you did before going to bed is normal. If so, I don’t want to live in a normal world. I’ll take crazy, weird, and nutty.

As Alice said in her journeys around Wonderland, “If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense.”

So let the nonsense begin.

This blog will chronicle my Spinning and subsequent development of superhero-level powers of strength and endurance at the Global Ride facility in Lower Burrell, Pennsylvania.  Global Ride is the home of all things Spinning®, yoga and pilates, as well as the headquarters of Cycling Fusion.

I sit in a chair.  I sit in a chair all the time.  Oh, I do occasionally get up and venture to other chairs. Perhaps “seats” would be more appropriate, as I frequently travel from one chair to another, maybe from a padded recliner to a wooden diner, occasionally stopping off at a bench, couch, loveseat or futon for added variety.  I take it easy and life takes it easy on me, and I don’t enjoy overexertion.   I’m comfortable.  I’m clean.  There’s a crease in my pants.  I’m dry.  I’m free of pain.

Aside from the near-daily LCD screen headaches, neck and shoulder cramping, geriatric levels of stamina, terrible circulation, mannequin-stiff muscles and tendons and the feeling of receiving a PVC pipe lumbar puncture administered by a twelfth-century cannon every time I lie on my back.

Yeah, so maybe I’m not free of pain.  Until now, that’s been tolerable.  Working out is painful, annoying and uncomfortable.  And so is the pain from sitting still on the glute pillows. Why should I struggle for pain when it can come naturally, all while doing those sedentary things I so heartily enjoy?

Because that’s awful logic, pal.  That’s why.  There’s a bigger moose to shoot, and that logic is a cap gun.  It turns out workout pain is “beneficial” pain, and sitting around pain is… um… non-beneficial pain.  It turns out I’ve been “deconditioned,” the non-confrontational industry term used to gently tell people they’re out of shape.  

And so here we are, ready to exchange one brand of pain for another, ready to repair what years of nothingness has so effectively broken, ready to stand up straight and tackle the biggest, craziest, meanest deterrent of exercise in all its gloriously unappealing forms… myself.

Health on wheels.  Well, one wheel.  Time to get some slick pants, clean shoes, and perhaps a brown paper bag or two.  I’m going Spinning®.