Bodily Metrics

In spinning class on Tuesday I felt kind of like the Princess and the Pea. I got to class 5 minutes before it started and began to adjust the bike I usually use. When I mounted, however, I realized that left pedal was not attached to the bike but lying on the ground. All the good bikes were taken, so I proceeded to spend the first 20 minutes of class moving from bike to bike. They all had problems:Bike #1: Made a grinding sound, like it needed some wd40, and was difficult to adjust the tension (a slight tap on the adjuster thingy led to an exponential increase in tension).

Bike #2: Wobbly

Bike #3: (purportedly new): Right pedal seemed to be attached incorrectly, so it was slanted, so when we did a standing climb my foot did whatever the opposite of pronation is.

Bike #4: Wobbly, but super easy tension wise, so I looked like a badass with the tension cranked all the way when actually I was working at an 8/10.

I ended up settling for Bike #4.

Ever since I took a spinning class at my old gym with this guy who is on the UNC cycling team, I have become very particular about adjustment. I don’t like it if I can’t lower the handlebars or if the seat doesn’t move back and forth. UNC Cycling Guy encouraged us to write down the exact measurements we had determined on an index card, which he kept on file, so we could check everything carefully before class: height of seat, position of seat, height of handlebars, distance form handlebars to seat, etc. They had a brand new fleet of yellow bikes that were easily adjustable.

At my new gym nobody seems to care too much about all these things, possibly because all the bikes are from 1972 and don’t easily adjust anyway. But isn’t that wrong? Or am I just too anal? There is something rather Foucauldian about the specific bodily metrics I learned at my old gym. Perhaps this is evidence that have become a docile body of the spinning institution, or something. But then again maybe I feel a lot comfortable if I can adjust everything appropriately and get annoyed when the above situation happens.

Then again, everyone at my old gym got really into spinning and started to emulate the instructor, who taught the class in fully spandex regalia replete with a UNC logo. First they started wearing the little shorts, then the shoes, and then people started showing up in the full outfit. Because wind resistance is a big problem with indoor spinning.

Rather than inculcating these forms of bodily discipline, my new gym has instead invested time and money into converting the spinning room into a “cosmic spinning” room. (My term, not theirs). This means that they have painted the walls and floors black, with a highway and buildings and palm trees in fluorescent colors. The class is conducted under black lights. The instructor’s teeth glow so I always think she is chewing fluorescent yellow gum. Of course this is completely pointless, but maybe it is a cheap way to distract us from the sub-par quality of the equipment.