Friday, February 13, 2009

Calling All Unattractive Spin Instructors

Spin classes are fabulous. It's quite a treat to jump on a bike and ride as hard as you want without constantly looking over your shoulder for cops at t-stops (...I mean stopping at stop signs...) or narrowly avoiding getting hit by Mr. Magoo driving a giant bus.

If the class is taught by an instructor who can choose and mix great beats, pick killer drills, and manage to keep the class motivated without singling anyone out, or getting off of his bike, it might become a solid part of your workout routine.

However, if said class is as fantastic as the class outlined above--and taught by a guy who is genuinely enthusiastic about fitness, friendly, blond, and classically handsome in a Greek statue sort of way--the class may become reminiscent of your high school lunch break.

Women of all ages, shapes, and fitness levels storm my favorite spin class every week for a chance to show off new boobs to this instructor, whom we shall call Beefcake, in workout clothes smaller than my regular underwear. And no, I don't wear granny panties.

These women are always up for the "hover"position, which will allow them to lean over the handlebars in such a way that said boobs will be highlighted in all their eerily standoutish glory.

They travel in small groups (the women, I mean. Boobs do that all of the time.), rushing into the room when the doors open, hoping to get bikes in the front row. They call each other by names like "Sweetie" and "Dahling" while secretly planning how they'll win more attention from the instructor than their friends that day.

The top 10 spots in a class of about 28 bikes fill up fast, at a reservation price of $1. The rest are up for grabs an hour before class starts, and if you're not there at 6am on the dot, you can count yourself out of the interval workout you've been counting on all week. America's obesity epidemic clearly does not live on the third floor of my gym.

And so, in search of the perfect class that does not require spending extra time at my gym (a hub for people to scam on each other, like any gym in LA, I suppose) to get into class, or potentially get my eyes gouged out by fake fingernails, I'm calling on all of you equally enthusiastic, fun, hip spin instructors who aren't Beefcakeishly handsome to start teaching classes there.

In return, I offer you a small group of devoted hard-core athletes who will relish whatever monstrous workout you bark out. Around these parts, even some of those hard-core girls have fake boobs, so you won't be missing out on Beefcake's scene entirely. Promise.

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