When my sister called me at work today to see if I wanted to go to the gym, I said with mild enthusiasm, “OK.” I figured I really needed finish the last couple chapters of Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close and those straight-backed exercise bikes make for rather comfy reading stations. The loftier goal, of course, was to start busting my bum into shape so that maybe, just maybe, I would be mistaken for one of the models at this week’s fashion show. Yeeeah. I decided to stick with the original endeavor.

So when we got there, I was all ready to plop my stuff down and enjoy me some Jonathan Safran Foer, when my sister peeked her head into a spin class, which was starting, like, in 10 seconds. “Let’s take this,” she said, motioning me over. I, never having the ability to stand up to to peer pressure, shrugged and said “OK.”

This was my very first spin class. It was hard. It was fast and then slow and then fast. At various moments, I was blinded by the beads of sweat that drizzled into my eyes. But I kept on going. Those big girls are good. I must’ve burned a million calories. Or at least 160. My sister thinks her butt got a little bit firmer. I think my inner thighs have slightly deeper indentations. Now, everything hurts.

It was an hour well spent.