I would make a terrible warrior.
We are fifteen minutes into spin class, and I want to fall off my bike and die.
"Increase your bike's resistance, and push!" Sara, the 22-year old blonde spin instructor at the front of the class, is yelling at me. Well, I guess the whole class. Not really yelling, she's smiling, so..
I remember watching the first Lord of the Rings movie when I was still in high school. The message resonating within me long after the movie ended was the overwhelmingly romantic notion of trenching into battle so passionately for something you believed in; something you would be willing to die for. I was so enamoured of the relationship between Aragorn and Liv Tyler. I also had a huge crush on a boy from the volleyball team who took me to Lord of the Rings, so maybe that is really the basis of my inspiration here. I imagined him as Aragorn, and myself as Liv Tyler with perfect skin, riding through green hills on tall horses. I don't know how people can make movies and not fall in love with each other.
Volleyball boy also brought his friend along to the movie and he sat right between us. I took it as a sign that Volleyball boy wanted to win my heart the old-fashioned way, by playing hard to get. I spent the ride home in the backseat alone imagining myself on a midnight black steed, making my way through the mist, searching the hills of battle for my true love. I would fight for Volleyball boy, I would follow him to the ends of the earth, never faltering until I had slayed every dragon.. are there dragons in Lord of the Rings? Can't remember. Anyways, Volleyball boy went on to marry his college sweetheart and take over his dad's roofing business. I don't remember what happened to his friend.
"Faster!" Sara's charging instruction shatters my thought process and brings me back to the present: painfully bouncing on stationary bike trying to pedal as hard as I can. My legs are made of fresh red licorice. I want to die.
"Don't give up! Think of how sexy your legs will look on vacation this winter!" It's like Sara can read my mind. Of course I want to give up. I try to visualize how sexy my legs will look on vacation this winter but I just don't care; nor can I afford a tropical vacation. Most likely my winter vacation this year will consist of drinking bud lites in the snowmobile shack with my boyfriend. You don't need sexy legs for ski-pants. Come to think of it, you don't really need a razor either..
My heart is pumping so alarmingly fast and loud I think it may burst through my t-shirt. My t-shirt that has been drenched with sweat. The sweat of a failed warrior.
"How bad do you want it?!" Sara shouts at me. I don't want it, Sara. I want to be on my couch eating chips and watching The Mindy Project.
"I give up!" I try to say, but I'm breathing much too hard. Comes out more like a gurgle. I would trade stumbling through the mist - and basically anything in this world - if I could just meet relief.
In the battlefield of life, perhaps I'm more of an observer.
