Picture this: You’ve signed up for your regular spin class, ready to sweat out the week’s stress in a cool, well-ventilated room. You imagine yourself pedaling like a Tour de France champion, hydrated and invigorated, with air conditioning whispering sweet nothings across your overheating face.
Now scrap that image.
Because in a plot twist worthy of a bad reality show, your leisure centre has decided that your spin class, the one that requires actual cardio exertion, should now take place in a corridor. Yes, a corridor. The architectural afterthought of buildings. But apparently, someone at the leisure centre thought, “You know what would make spin class more exciting? Danger; so let’s add a survival element.”
The spin room had an air conditioning system. The corridor? It has a faint draft from the fire exit and the occasional breeze from an old man power-walking past in polyester shorts. Forget cooling airflow; this is now definitely a game of “SAS, Who Dares to Spin?”.
Remember that convenient water fountain? The one positioned perfectly so you could quickly rehydrate between sprints? That’s now a distant memory. If you want water, you’ll need to dismount your stationary bike, fight your way through a Zumba class, and possibly complete an obstacle course of yoga mats and confused pensioners. I guess we are all going to have to bring a hydration backpack like we’re trekking the Sahara.
The old spin studio had mirrors, motivational posters, and an atmosphere that said, “You can do this!” The corridor has a flickering fluorescent light, a fire extinguisher, and Linda from reception occasionally walking past with a trolley of damp mop heads. The only motivation here is the desperate need to finish before someone asks you to move so they can get to the disabled toilet.
Spinning at high speeds in a confined corridor is a brilliant idea, if the goal is to recreate an extreme sports documentary. Riders swerving to avoid people passing through, handlebars inches from the wall, and the sheer panic of realizing you’ve come too late to avoid riding next to Sid, whose last shower was probably before going to his parents for Christmas dinner.
We understand that gym management decisions are sometimes made by individuals who haven’t seen a treadmill since 1998, but this one is truly next-level. It’s like relocating a swimming class to the parking lot because “it’s basically the same thing in England because it rains a lot.”
So, dear leisure centre, we applaud your bold vision. Really, we do. But if we wanted a workout that combined extreme heat, dehydration, and a serious risk of injury, we’d just sign up for a Tough Mudder.
What’s next? Zumba in the stairwell? Aqua aerobics in the staff room sink? We know times are hard, but …
If the goal was to make spin class so uncomfortable, people just stop coming, then bravo, mission accomplished. You can cancel that class and its associated costs due to “lack of interest”.
Or, maybe, just maybe, someone in charge could reconsider this baffling decision before the leisure centre has to start offering first-aid courses as part of the membership package and add the paramedics to speed dial…
Until then, we ride. In the corridor. Against all logic.
Photo by Trust “Tru” Katsande
