I did my third spinning class yesterday. And here's how I got through it: I kept telling myself it would never end---the high speed cycling into a vortex of heavy metal beats. Some pretty tricky reverse psychology, eh?

And because I was doing something, oh, eternal, my mind got a little fierce. That scenario in which I throw myself off my bike and run to the garbage to vomit...vivid. But this time, I don't just hurl and depart, no (cause that wouldn't be interesting). I sit hugging the garbage can, beating my breast while tears of exhaustion stream down my face. The rest of the cyclists look on, witness to this most dramatic and embarrassing expression of...weakness. That got me through a good four minutes. Then of course I had the couple in front of me to distract me. Oh them. In their cute cycling garb with padded bums and appropriate footwear. He kept squeezing her butt cheek and adjusting her cute shirt. She kept pulling strings off his face. I felt really...at home behind them. Getting a touching glimpse into their day-to-day. THEN the woman beside me asked me if the ten year old boy eating the apple on the second level was 'my boy.' Um...no. Not my boy. Do the math. But thank you, I suddenly have energy to climb this seven minute hill. My weakness has given way to frustration and a general distaste for people...and their questions.