ahream

I have been abandoned.

My usual spinning* class instructor has apparently moved to Beirut, leaving me with a dubious grab bag o’ teachers for my Wednesday morning classes.

Today was a woman who kept shouting, “BREATHE! BREATHE! BREATHE!”

Am I missing something? Is there even the slightest possibility I’m going to forget that part? It’s like going to a restaurant and having the waiter shout at you, “DIGEST! DIGEST! DIGEST!”

Frankly, the whole situation is making me cranky. A good instructor is like a good hair stylist. They know the secret handshake...and the gray patch you’re trying to hide and that weird thing your bangs do when it rains. There is LOYALTY, darn it.

Unless you’re me. Then you get the “BREATHE! BREATHE! BREATHE!” lady every other week and twice on Sundays.

(sigh) My eye is twitching. She’s giving me an eye twitch. I may need to lie down.

*Probably ya’ll already know this. But just in case, spinning is a group class with everyone on special stationary bikes equipped with flywheels that simulate the momentum of a real bike. You do hill climbs, downhill sprints, etc. and generally sweat your butt off.

ahream Dispatches from the City of Angels I'm a mystery writer living in and writing about Los Angeles. You can catch my short story, "Running Venice," in the new anthology LAndmarked for Murder. Look for it in bookstores and on Amazon.com now. In the meantime, feel free to poke around. Over at my website you can find even more blog entries than I could fit here, as well as a few other ramblings. Enjoy and come back often.
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