What doesn't kill us makes us sore

I'm supposed to go to my first (and maybe last) spinning class tomorrow morning at 6am. I sill cannot get over the fact I agreed to exercise with Insurance Barbie let alone that I agreed to to do it at 6 am. yes, I whined about this before but I'm still feeling rather incredulous over my dumb self. I know I've been dragging my feet on this and I blogged a few weeks ago that I was going to do it- but I still haven't. One reason is because Insurance Barbie didn't go 2 weeks in a row and I wasn't going alone. Another is I was gone. Another time she was gone. Now I've run out of excuses!!!!! And I'm worried! I'm worried I'll be the fattest person there with all the Barbies. Or that's I'll have a heart attack. Or that I'll sweat so much my hands will slide off the handlebars and I'll smack face first on the floor.

And here's the thing- I am so outta shape that today I'm sore because I've worked three straight shifts at the ice cream parlor the last three days- all 6-7 hours each, standing the entire time- nope, there's no time to sit or take a break- and today I am SO SORE. My ankles, knees and lower back are all killing me from the 18-21 hours of standing on a linoleum floor, bending, scooping, etc... And we don't even have those black mats to stand on that are supposed to help the body.

I'm thinking if I'm this sore after working, I 'll probably die after a spinning class. How tragic to die at a Y, during an exercise class, in a small town. Oh Goddess-- that's so redundant!

If I live to tell the tale, I'll report back on my first time spinning. And if I don't, you can read my last will and testament here.

Peace out,
Mags