Why I'll never do another spin class...

For uninitiated fabulous food followers, you may not realise that I had a full knee reconstruction in July after busting my ACL during a basketball match. Here's the grisly evidence:

I'm pleased to report that my recovery has been speedy and as painless as one could hope. Just last week, I was given the all clear by my surgeon to start slowly building up to a jog and to crack out the yoga mats - namaste!

Up until this point, I've been allowed only to ride my bike, walk or, rather comically, balance on one leg in water while my beloved used what he coined "turbulence sticks" to try to make me work to maintain stability. Thankfully, I love to ride my bike and did not want to overdo my rehab. This meant that until last week, this rather minimal level of activity suited me to a T.

Now that more strenuous activity is encouraged, I have decided to partake in a few classes (that do not require a great deal of lateral movement...yes, I'd still make a rather useless crab right now...) at the gym adjoining my work. My lunchtime yoga class was great - the instructor was amazing (I could have watched her headstand all day!), she was careful to ensure that I didn't contort myself into any potentially knee-damaging configurations and I felt stretched and rejuvenated afterwards. My evening spin class, however, was an entirely different matter!

Spin class participants are serious. Deadly serious. There is no fun, no spirituality and, for goodness sake, no smiling! Earnestness aside, there was pain...lots of pain...and not nice thigh burning quadricep pain. Oh no, this was numbness in my right foot, a massive whack to my recently reconstructed knee (yes, apparently one can injure oneself by bashing one's knee into the central bar of a spin bike) and, oh my goodness, "ladybit" pain. I'm convinced that the comando-style instructor has numb privates...or at least uses some sort of local anesthetic pre-class.

Strangely, as someone who adores bike riding, spin classes are just not for me. As I dismounted my heavy metal torture device (and feeling returned to a couple of places) I could not wait to hightail it out of the centre. En route to my car, I sauntered past a couple of basketball courts. The melange of basketball aromas (sweat, polished floor boards, the odd human skid mark...) hit me like a tonne of bricks. I kid you not, my eyes got a little moist (lame, I know!). In less than seven months I'll be back out there, throwing myself around like a crazy woman, but in the meantime, I have to find some more challenging (and importantly enjoyable) activities to get stuck into. Any thoughts?