don’t donate blood before soul cycle

Spoiler alert, you really only need to read the title of this post to get the scoop. I’m an idiot, and now I know for sure.

Tuesday my schedule was packed. There was a meeting, then I donated blood, next an interview, a free class from Soul Cycle and a phone meeting to close it all down. I was looking forward to most of it, expecting a big day. I carefully planned and packed my meals knowing I would need fuel.

To preface, I donate blood regularly. By regularly, I mean every time we host a blood drive at work, which is every quarter or so. It’s easy for me, and I’m O+ (#LiquidGold). It seems like a surefire way to get into heaven, so I can handle a quick stick. Usually I’m a little tired the rest of the day, but nothing crazy.

After giving, I grabbed a free Oreos and CheeseIts and headed back to work. All good. Actually, I felt fine until the Soul Cycle class started. This is the part of the story where you squint your eyes a little and cock your head to one side. If you know me really well, you say, “Do you think you should have gone to that?” To you, I answer, “No, I should have stayed home and watched TV like a good American.”

See, the class was a promo through work. I know Taylor Swift goes to Soul Cycle in New York. Although I don’t like riding bikes and the one cycling class I took in college was torture, I thought, “Hey, maybe this will change my mind!” Oh, and it was free.

They gave me shoes, adjusted my bike and I sat there pedaling like an idiot, thinking I could do strenuous exercise missing 1/8th of my blood supply. I do not kid when I say that’s a tough class. Well, at least the first 15 minutes are tough. I could hardly do them. Ok  fine, I totally sat down the whole time. The base thumped as the instructor in an effort to pump us up started flashing the lights. Then I got some crazy vertigo. Like a Deadliest Catch meets Screaming Eagle feeling and I thought I was going to chuck my cookies in that tiny studio packed in with dancing, sweating bicyclists (some of whom were coworkers). There was no where to puke except on another human.

I couldn’t unclip my shoes from that stupid bike, so I just slipped them off and dove through the rows of elbows as I sprinted for the door.

Once I got out into the glorious, quieter, brighter lobby a well-meaning employee made me sit on a bench until I could walk straight. Then I walked straight into the bathroom and heaved while she pretended to clean the sink. I sat in the lobby for a while feeling like a baby and a failure. I am both, it’s cool. Then they made me fill out an incident report, and I left with what little dignity I could muster before the rest of my coworkers finished their totally rad workout.

Once I got home, I laid on the cool hardwood floor of our apartment and reacquainted myself with the gentle spin of mother earth, drank a ton of water and then went to bed at 8pm.

If you’re judging me, it’s ok. I deserve it. I can handle it.



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