Dedicated...or crazy.

Twice a week, we drag ourselves out of bed a tad earlier than other days (one "snooze" on the alarm clock as opposed to, oh, five) in order to make it to the 6:30 a.m. spinning class at the gym. Today we were running a little late, which may or may not have had anything to do with the fact that I had to run back upstairs to get something I'd forgotten, but when we arrived at the gym, the door to the spinning room was still locked. This makes spinners very anxious, since most of us have, if not a specific bike, at least an area in the room we like to get our bike. And on busy days, the class can fill up quickly so you get stuck with a dud (squeaky pedals, only one gear--hard, no seat). Doors are supposed to open fifteen minutes before the class. I like to be there ten minutes before, to warm up. We made a fast change and then joined the group of stretchy-shorts-clad folk mingling unhappily outside the still-locked door. The Tuesday morning instructor is not my favorite -- it's just the class that fits best into the rest of my schedule -- and I was beginning to think I'd have to do some rescheduling if she made a habit of being late. (Aside: Look, I'm the first to admit that I personally have a problem with punctuality. But I rarely miss the start of spinning, and I'm not getting paid to be there.) Just as I was going to suggest that one of us maybe ask the front desk if they knew what was up, someone came to tell us that the regular instructor was off, but no-one knew who the sub was. They'd unlock the door for us, and we could use the bikes, but there would be no instructor.
Now, spinning isn't the same as just using a stationary exercise bike. There should be pumping tunes, and preferably an inspiringly fit instructor shouting encouraging things at you for forty-five minutes. Nevertheless, we all filed into the room like a herd of confused and sleepy sheep, hoping against hope that somehow our class would be salvaged. A bit of muttering, a bit of mumbling, a few shared shrugs followed. There was lots of talk about heading back to the changeroom to grab iPods. I was sort of impressed by the way everyone had decided to still do their Tuesday spin, even though we'd been abandoned. It also occured to me that we were all a little nuts, unable to break from our respective gym routines, determined to do spinning even though there clearly wasn't a class happening. Then, one of the twins stepped up and declared that she would try to be the instructor.
I only know them as the twins, and it was a revelation to discover that they were. Before, I thought there was this one girl who was at the gym all the time. I have literally never been at my gym when there isn't one of them there. Once, one of them made gym-friend overtures towards me (I do see them nearly every day!) but since I don't know which one, now I smile at both.
Instructor -- check!
But, she said, she didn't have any music. Suddenly, J remembered that he had a certain CD in his backpack.
"We've got a CD that our spinning-instructor friend made for a class!" I spoke up. In it went. Crisis averted! Everyone happily peddaled away. Twin-girl did a pretty good job up in front of the class. I listened to the tunes and remembered the fabulous class in which my friend had kicked our butts with hard work. I felt good, and virtuous, and dedicated. And only a little crazy. After all, if you're loosing four "snoozes" worth of sleep, you better make it worth it!