April 5, 2007 | Mama Smith

5:30am

An ungodly hour. No one should be awake at that hour. Much less, physically asserting their body. Even less, trying to do so on 3 hours of sleep from the night you just emerged from.

I don’t remember most of the cycling class this morning. I think I fell asleep while sitting upright, pumping my legs to the beat of some wretched 80s music. The room was too dark and warm to stay awake at 5:30am. Even in light of the all-too-perky instructor psychotically barking “Half-turn! Come on, push it! Give me another half-turn!” while my legs felt as if they were already fighting through a pool of wet cement. Any of you who have taken a spinning class know how obnoxious these commands can be, especially coming from this rare breed of human, known as Spinning Instructors – who are known for their grotesquely massive quads and twisted pleasure they receive from making others want to commit suicide on their handlebars after being in their presence for a mere one hour-long class. Well it’s only magnified at the crack of dawn when you’re operating on a few cat naps you just had between 10pm and 5am.

I had to keep reminding myself it was my fault I was so miserable. I was the one who made myself go to the class. Not the annoying instructor. If I hadn’t reminded myself of this over and over, the next time he came over to my bike to scream “Push it! Work!” in my ear, I swear I would have started ringing his 12in. thick neck, shouting “Next time YOU carry around a human for 10 months and push his almost 8 pound mass out of your body a mere 8 weeks prior, THEN you can tell me to push it with some convicition, okay buddy?!” With a frighteningly wild look in my eye. Did I mentioned, we sleep-deprived parents of newborns are constantly on the brink of insanity? We should come with a warning tattooed to our foreheads “Warning: Easily aggravated and prone to angry flare ups. Handle with extreme caution.”

Subjecting myself to this form of early morning torture would be much more bearable if I had a peer to look over at and roll my eyes with. Silently hated our existence together. Instead of being surrounded by this buff morning crew, decked out in their cycling gear, acting like they were all in fourth grade again desperately trying to please their teacher, by jumping at every command from the barking instructor, frantically peddling faster and faster every time he glanced over in their direction. For some reason, pain is easier to take in the company of a commiserator. True? Any Philly gals up for some early morning “fun”, give me a call.

Since so many of you all emailed to get info on the triathlon, I added the link to the right hand column. Some of you are in the area and others are thinking of making the trek north to the great land of Philadelphia for the weekend. Hesitate no longer! Come on! We’ve got a not-too-comfortable couch and a unused toddler bed you’re welcome to. And I’d love some commiserators early that Sunday morning. Hopefully I won’t be such an insanely sleep-deprived parent at that point, and therefore a little less frightening to be around.