Secretly, I did flip off the village idiot …

ImageI am a recovering fanatic. Really. I am. What? You’ve never heard the term before? OK. OK. I coined it but mark my words peeps, one day Oprah will do a show about people like me (that is if she ever does the smart thing and returns to hosting a talk show instead of running a struggling television network) …

Fanatic aka extremist, uncompromising … obsessive … you get it. I used to be over-the-top regimented when it came to everything – especially my workouts … but now, I am the aforementioned “recovering fanatic” struggling to find my place somewhere between establishing a healthy workout routine and slipping back into the three hour a day, seven day a week schedule I used to adhere. But still. I make my plans and with the exception of an occasional snow storm, I stick to them … (Well, OK. Truth be known, I did sleep in the other day and missed my morning run, which, much to the surprise for this “recovering fanatic,” I survived the day.)

So yesterday, I show up for spin class (for those of you unfamiliar, it’s an indoor cycling class not a way to make wool … come to think of it, if you aren’t familiar with it then you probably aren’t going to care one iota about this) … anyhoo, this particular class is popular with all the current fanatics – which means it’s always full and you have to sign up for a bike online BEFORE the start of class … if you don’t sign in, you don’t get a bike – period. There are signs all over the club explaining this policy. The front desk people make it clear … the instructors make it clear … as do my fellow enthusiasts (note, I am refraining from grouping myself in with the fanatics).

So I … don my workout attire, drive to the club, sign in for class and waltz my way back to the room … I talk with a friend, say hello to the instructor and then – THEN, my eyes begin to wander about searching for a bike. My usual spot is taken – OK, I got there 20 minutes early instead of 30 so I would have to settle for a spot on the other side of the room … fine, whatever, I’m not worried. My name is on the list. The list.

Eventually, the instructor does roll call because apparently there is some idiot unable to follow the rules and has perched their little tush onto a saddle that should be mine. She calls out names from the list. The list. And finally the culprit is discovered …

“But I already have my stuff on the bike,” stammers the idiot.

“Yes, but you didn’t sign in – she did (pointing to me) – it’s her bike,” explains the agitated instructor.

“But I already have my stuff on the bike,” repeats the village idiot.

“But your not on THE LIST,” bark the fanatics who are about to stone the moron because he is taking precious minutes away from their workout …

UGGHH.

So what’s a girl to do? What I wanted to do was gather the fanatics together and have the little flea drawn and quartered. But I didn’t. No. I shushed the the fierce anger boiling my insides, took a deep breath and …

“Forget it,” I said, “I’m going for a run …” and I left. Gruff. The fanatic in me would have stayed, demanded my bike and then ran an extra couple of miles to make up for the minutes missed by the whole ordeal. But no. I remained calm. And sane. And channeled that fierceness into seven, seven-minute miles! Yay me. (I did, however, secretly flip him off when I drove away in my car – that’ll teach him!

Today’s post inspired by the Daily Prompt: “Fierce.”

11 comments

  1. Who cares if her stuff ( I’m intrigued…what stuff other than yourself do you need on a bike?) was on the bike. Get it off NOW. Instructor and fellow bike riders let you down and sent her a message that she can do what she wants. Superglue on her bike seat next time around will sort it ;)

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