Yesterday afternoon, I did something I'm not proud of. That's right: I went to a spinning class. (I promise, I don't have a vagina.) I'd heard from several people that it's pretty fun. My friend Mark is all about it, and he's been asking me to go. So I finally caved, and you know what? It was pretty fun. The instructor was a little, ahem, colourful, but he mixed things up and made it fun. The class lasted an hour, and 20 minutes in, I was already covered in sweat.
I'll probably go again, but it's not something I'll attend on a regular basis. Most likely just when the mood strikes, or when Mark asks me to go with him. And only when I'm feeling really secure in my masculinity.