You Spin Me Right Round

I’ve recently taken to going to spinning classes on my Thursday lunch hour--or I should say “cycling,” because “spinning" is apparently a copyrighted term that my gym does not pony up the cash to use. It is actually really hard--hard as in there comes a point during each class where either fainting or vomiting seems imminent. But despite the level of difficulty, I can’t shake the feeling that the cycling room is the habitat of bored, rich housewives and pampered, self-obsessed celebrities. Logically, I know that those women quit spinning five years ago and have moved on to yoga and Pilates and now the bodywedge workout and lifting weights on a giant inflatable ball. And I also understand that it really doesn’t matter who takes the class if it kicks my cardiovascular health up a notch. But I just can’t shake the image of the dreaded Joan Rivers, on the Oscar or Emmy red carpet a few years ago, asking the equally dreaded Helen Hunt how she brought about “her total body makeover.” Hunt’s answer: “Spinning.”