Fantasy Revs Class

This morning I awoke from anxious dreams to discover that in my bed I had been changed into a monstrous verminous spin instructor. Feeling constriction in my shaved buttocks and thighs, I glanced down to find them encased in tight spandex shorts. ‘God my package looks small,’ I murmured to myself. ‘And did my quads expand overnight?’ As Ogre raised her right hook, I sensed alarm: Wasn’t I supposed to be somewhere? Three digital clocks on the nightstand displayed different times, each suggesting that I would be late to teach my first spin (aka revs) class. Oh fucknuts! Luckily I was already—and somehow magically—wearing an attractive cycling outfit, complete with matching shoes, purchased during my last trip to bike-friendly Poland.

[I guess you know where I stand on the ongoing and ever-heated ‘proper penis position in underpants’ debate.]

After grabbing a carby handful of Choco Boy—cookies made in Russia, sold in Asian grocery stores, and shaped like hallucinogenic mushrooms to entice children—I doused myself with Axe body spray and then hopped on my Aurumania gold-plated, crystal-incrusted bicycle, the only kind fancy enough for a figure girl such as myself. Would it be safe locked outside the gym? 

Despite the initial panic, I felt good as I strode into the mirrored room, its stationary bikes arranged in a semi circle. With wavy European man hair billowing behind me, I slowly adjusted the Panopticon cycle at the front, deliberately bending over several times so that everyone—ie. the minions taking the class—could admire my padded ass. Then I mounted the bike somewhat awkwardly. Please don’t laugh, my flat-butted readers; just imagine trying to ride with two honey-glazed hams jammed down the back of your pants. Not so easy, is it? Gazing majestically around the room, I smiled Snapeishly at the frightened newbies while deeming to acknowledge those I recognized. ‘Hey there Phantom Double Ds [PDDs]!’ The name of my new workout partner—indeed she is the first person who has ever agreed to train with me without being paid—is based on a recent session in which we joked that during a chest press, the barbell should be lowered to where you think your tits should be, not where they actually are. ‘Welcome Poisoned Donair [PD]!’ I gave that cutie a wave, laughingly remembering his diet tips, which included three days of uncontrolled vomiting and meth addiction. Kudos if that was a flirting technique because funny and clever will impress the girls every time. ‘Hola Hot Tamale, my bootcamp sister!’ She always brings her best, even when that best means barfing up Greek wine on long run day. Good riddance to sour grapes! And what have we here? Could it be my new favourite at the gym, Eye Candy #4? Thanks for wearing shorts to my class, Monsieur Jambes de hockey. All I can say is: candy leg lust. ‘Oh yeah,’ I whispered to myself, ‘this is going to be the best revs class ever, especially since those crunchy mushrooms have not only increased my fabulousness, they have also endowed me with the ability to read minds.’ 

[Gratuitous mangina interlude: Put your hand up if you frequently suffer from male camel toe.]

Track #1: Jamiroquai’s Feels Just Like it Should http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H9W9rc-P9UQ. I hit my ipod and begin the warm up, informing the class that during the first sexfunk song we will practice all the required revs techniques, testing different tensions, trying stalls, and giving ‘er during sprints. ‘I want you to work hard and do exactly as I say, so that this class feels just like it should: challenging, sweaty, and lactic acidy. If you do not wish to follow my instructions, there’s the door bitches.’ At this juncture I am pointing at the door. I figure that since this hardass approach is well received by university students, it should be even more effective here. Then I start to sing in a strange falsetto: ‘You said it would feel that good and it does.’ [Aside to my man Jay Kay: I prefer a rainbow and lollypops candyman to the crack-addled former member of the Blue Man troupe that you envision,] 

Track #2: I play Pink’s You Make Me Sick to set the tone for the rest of the class. If you desire to listen to that tune, go find it online yourself. Lazy asses.

Track #3: Tegan and Sara’s Northshore http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AIlZadahi6s. ‘Now we will alternate low squat stalls with hard sprints during the chorus,’ I announce. Right back to the singing: ‘Don’t feel, don’t tear, don’t kiss, don’t care, don’t touch, don’t want me, don’t want me, don’t want me.’ But you want me anyway don’t you, my almost sweaty followers? I sense your yearning mixed with admiration, and I’m all right with it. 

Track #4: Sonic Youth’s The Sprawl http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uku4MPvlnrM.
During this song—best line, ‘he was candy all over’—we are powering it out, moving our tension heavier and heavier. I keep my eyes on everyone so that I can call out all the cheaters. Turn it up, bitches! My mind reading skills surge as I spot an older fit man wearing overalls and some kind of breathing contraption on his head. He resembles an Architect, but is shiny as if covered in vaseline. Me likey. I lean forward and focus in order to hear his thoughts, hoping that they are debased. I am not disappointed.  ‘What I would love to do for her…first I would take my massive tool kit over to her house, and I would ask for her wish list. Then I would proceed through each room, taking care of every little thing. I would replace that faulty fan in the ensuite bathroom, tack down the unfurling carpet in the bedroom, refinish the beginning-to-peel bathtub, CLR the rusty drain, and entirely refurbish the kitchen, respecting its original 1962 design. I would do these tasks cheerfully, without expecting any monetary or sexual payment in return. However, if either of these things was offered, I would accept it, silently, and with extreme gratitude.’ Not what you were expecting, patient readers? Well tough shit, because this is my fantasy revs class. Go write your own self-indulgent version, which may or may not involve an obedient handyman who makes giant steel walls for corporate art galleries in his free time.  

Track #5: NWA’s Straight Outta Compton,’ is added for the obligatory slide and push up portion of the revs class. But really, I simply want to shout “When I’m in your neighbourhood, you better duck. Cause Ice Cube is crazy as fuck!’ at that old guy who once asked me to ‘try and make it softer.’ I do not forget. I do not forgive. I do not bother adding link for this song. 

So by Track #6 I am getting a little tired, and perhaps you are too? Those magic mushrooms are starting to wear off, and my second metamorphosis is beginning to fade. I hear different voices in my head, angry, bitter voices that are saying mean things about me. Is this the unpleasant sound of reality? The Pixies, Wave of Mutilation, both describes these unfolding events, and kicks ass. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BihjWa47WuM

 Track #7 is NERD’s Anti Matter: ‘Tilt your head back and close your eyes.’ I find this advice useful in almost any situation.

Track #8 is Ahead of My Time by the Teddybears, which actually features cycling in its video http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r4Dmh46Lro8. A different and more rockin’ version of this song sustained me on the step mill during my daily pre-comp cardio. That is when I realized the power of music. It took me a long time to figure out that music is like food, providing sustenance for life. Better late than never.    

Track #9: We wind things down with the New Young Pony Club’s Jerk Me, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nHzLM6nkQyk&eature=related. Mostly because I couldn’t find Hiding on the Staircase online. Nevertheless, the filthiness of this song is equally appealing. By now, the voices are louder. I catch such snippets as: ‘When will that loud mouth whore ever shut up? ‘This class is killing me. My drinking’s killing me. My ass is killing me. Why did I forget my jelly boy squishy seat? I hate her. I am never coming to this class again.’ 

Let’s stretch out to Track #10: Beast of Burden by the Stones. And no, you are not rough enough; you are not tough enough. And I better get the fuck out of here before someone tries to hurt me.  

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About feministfiguregirl

I am a 50-year-old professor named Lianne McTavish who receives as much satisfaction from working out at the gym as from publishing my academic research. I decided to combine my two primary identities (scholar/gym rat) to create "Feminist Figure Girl," a fictional character who both analyzes and participates in bodybuilding. I competed in my first figure show in June of 2011, and then wrote a book inspired by the process, published by SUNY Press in February 2015. In this blog I will write about and consider my ongoing research on the body, while regularly making fun of myself. I recommend that you start reading my first post from August 2010 (available on the home page), instead of backwards from the most recent one, in order to get the full FFG effect.

One thought on “Fantasy Revs Class

  1. This is definitely going to be my new rule of thumb (or any other applicable body part) for chest presses “during a chest press, the barbell should be lowered to where you think your tits should be, not where they actually are” Loved it!

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