Social Studies, Part II

Spin Class offers me 60 minutes of physical torture by an aforementioned hot, bald instructor who seems to think that intervals… while on a hill… to exceptionally good and varied music… are fun.

Well, then.

I will agree that they are fun, provided you are in *my* spin class.

Oh! The drama!

The drama of my spin class is second only to Telenovelas, spanish (Mexican, specifically) soap operas where the acting vies with the clothing for “worst” lists.

Last week, we saw our gearhead making eyes and conversation at the hottie blonde who spends all of her time watching herself in the mirror — until her water bottle was filled by the SpinClass Regular (who is, it must be noted, significantly taller — though I would not personally agree significantly hotter). Last night Gearhead positioned himself exactly opposite Hottie, and also in line with Regular, so as to watch the two of them. When he wasn’t bent over listening to “Renegades of Funk” by Rage Against the Machine on Level 4 2minutes Hill at 100rpm, he was in fact eyeballing the two of them, as I am wont to do, attempting to figure out the nature of their relationship.

Regular will never hold a candle to the mirror, for her, as far as I can see.

We had another packed class, with a male person who can only be classed as Junior to me (because he was so clearly so: look sonny I get that you think I’m cute and I get that I’m on the bike right next to you and I totally get that we have the same taste in music — but– I’m not so much for conversation that is punctuated with “ya know” and “i like said”) taking every opportunity to talk about the music, grade, my gear, and clippie shoes.

We had an excellent sound track, which normally I’d class a 7 out of 10 but this was an overwhelming 9.3.

And we have some new faces I hope to see in future classes: the Frat Boy, who is clearly in Spin Class because beer has caught up to him. His Buddy, who is clearly in Spin Class because Frat Boy has convinced him you get hotties that way (FB and Buddy made a play for the Blonde Hottie and got totally and irrevocably shut down when she completely ignored them) (They then spent 10 minutes pre-class talking to the Frat Girl that was there, who I would say is charitably pretty). The Old Gent who is there to Do Something About It and took, very good naturedly, to the music of the class. And then we have the Proto-Geek, whom I’ve seen on occasion who knows all of the Alternative and most of the Electronica and is at a complete loss when it comes to the Grunge and Rap, but, I think, is flirting with my Hot Instructor.

It’s amazing how much you can see when you’re avoiding the singing, searing pain in your thighs on a bike.

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