Spinning Cancer Away
|Camera:||Canon PowerShot SD850 IS|
Ok. I have officially met the grittiest group in the world. Cancer patients who spin.
Somehow or other I thought I could spin. Oh, no, people, I cannot.
My sweet Tina, daughter of my first cousin, who is just now getting her curls and strength back from a double mastectomy, a year of chemo and radiation treatments, asked me if I wanted to come and spin with her and another of her friends, Barbara, who is just completing similar breast cancer treatment.
She said, “It’s just a half hour class. Two times a week. The instructor is aware of our special needs. It would be fun to have you come. I think you could do it.”
Yeah, I said to myself, of course I could do it, but do I want to do it? That was my only question.
After canceling once, I finally made it there last week.
First, you had to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro to get to the class: the second floor of an old warehouse building with stairs on an incline that must be against code or some regulation governing buildings used by humans not alpine elk.
Second, you had to sit on something that looked like a bike but really simply was a pole you decided you had to stick up your behind.
Third, you had to strap your feet into pedal straps that the instructor tightened surely knowing I was a flight risk by the looks of me.
Fourth, you had to rotate the pedals and occasionally tighten the tension knob, that is if you could bend over with a pole up your behind.
Fifth, you get off the torture bike ten minutes into the class (not an easy thing to do if your feet are strapped to the pedals but I did it) and then with your wobbly legs, aching bum, you go to the back of the class and with all the dignity you can muster, you pretend it’s a Zumba class and start dancing to a latin beat that only you hear.
Hail, Tina. Hail, Barbara. You spinning beauties, you. If you were a stock, I’d buy you for my long term portfolio.
©Pat Coakley 2008
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