In an ongoing effort to outwit my body’s non-existent metabolism I avail myself of all manner of workouts. Always open to new and exhilarating ways to burn calories landed me in my first Spin class, where the rubber didn’t exactly meet the road.

If you haven’t availed yourself of this brand of fitness, let me provide a very simple overview. The idea is to vigorously pedal a stationary exercise bike—burning through calories and your self-esteem—in a group setting with extremely fit individuals who also pedal moving bicycles on their off days.

Alas, it didn’t hit me until class began I had truly never gotten back on the bike after an embarrassingly painful—to my psyche and body—cycling accident when I was a teen.

It was the 70’s and I was super stoked because I had just gotten a new pair of burnt orange corduroys and my best friend and I were going bike riding—with boys!!!

The 10-speed bicycle was all the rage at the time, so I borrowed my brother’s Schwinn, despite the fact it was meant for someone about a foot taller than me. I didn’t even adjust the seat, opting instead to pedal off with teen impulsivity.

I remember it being a sunny day and nothing really boded ill, signaling the horror that was about to unfold. We giddily cycled along, just gabbing away, staring at the two super fine-looking guys riding their bikes in front of us. As it turns out ogling and pedaling are a bad idea for so many reasons.

When my friend looked back at me to give me the “Wow! Look at us ogling and pedaling” look of excitement, she took a hard zig to the left, followed by an even harder zag to the right. This placed her squarely in my pedaling path.

Showcasing my quick reflexes if not any sort of safety strategy, I slammed on my brakes, discovering an unforgiving law of gravity.

One moment I was happily cycling, the next found me airborne as my corduroy-clad body flew over the handlebars. My pants ripped, my dignity was torn asunder, the bike’s chain went flying, and this was all in the presence of—boys!!!

Now I was back in the proverbial saddle and I didn’t think it was so bad until the instructor yodeled out, “Ready for those jumps?” Wait, what? Oh, right, she’s kidding. That’s probably how she gets us all loosened up for the ride.

When I looked around, keen to share a smile with the others over this joke, I quickly ascertained the Queen of the Spin Cycle was way serious.

She wanted us to launch ourselves up mid-pedal, and then hold that “jumping” position. It got better. We were supposed to keep alternating between sitting and standing until she told us we were done.

Oh, no, it was all happening again. This was the exact position I’d been holding just prior to my biking mishap.

The teacher energetically yelled, “Ready?!” and my body silently screamed, “No!” I couldn’t do it. I was jump-smacked.

Every time she yelled, “Jump!” she’d look over at me expectantly, only to find I was holding my own with the most basic of rides. It looked as though I was out for a leisurely Sunday ride in the countryside.

But then I began to sweat profusely, equally due to the workout and extreme nervousness. The wheels on my bike kept spinning, my head was spinning with non-helpful thoughts, and my anxiety was spinning out of control. Nevertheless, I resolved to finish this danged class, no matter what.

The universe would really be doing me a solid if it would support me in my quest to prevent myself from involuntarily dismounting this godforsaken two-wheeled steel nemesis.

At this point, even my nostrils were sweating. Not having the foresight to grab a towel before class meant I briefly converted to a one-handed grip while I grabbed my shirt, and used it as a towelette. I was playing for keeps now.

I prayed to the gods that protect fitness fools everywhere that my feet wouldn’t fly out of the stirrups, making it so the pedals smacked me in the back of my calves, so I’d be left screaming in agony in front of—everyone!!!

It was the last time I heard the instructor yell, “Jump!” that something just snapped…in a good way. I knew I needed to bike through my fears, so I tried a baby jump. My rearend was barely off the bike while the rest of the class was “taking the hill.”

I hadn’t fallen yet, so I executed another baby jump. Feeling exhilarated by my accomplishment I gave it one more go for the road I wouldn’t be riding on.

As the class wound down, I felt so proud. I’d made it AND I’d jumped! As I left, the teacher was saying “Good job,” “You’re a beast,” and “Way to take that hill” to everyone.

To me she said, “That’s so awesome you made it through the whole class.”

“It’s a personal best,” I commented drily as I crab walked out of the class, my pride and body already sore.