Spinning...Spinning...Spun

Last November, the first item on my agenda - apart from ending my relationship with cigarettes - related to my personal fitness.
Trust me, the myth that you read or hear about cigarettes, how they keep weight off? It's a myth. The people who use that excuse to continue smoking, have a fast enough metabolism, have never been grossly overweight.
What do those people have to say to smokers who have been overweight for years whilst smoking?
Probably nothing.
It took me two months to join my local gymnasium. From November to January, I was willing myself to succeed. It was easier the umpteenth time around.
During my last weeks as a smoker, I'd take public transport. It took me a year to notice that no one would sit next to me if they had another choice. During afternoon peak time, commuters grudgingly sat on the edge of the seat (if I sat nearer to the window).
Their reluctance didn't relate to my personal hygiene. I bathed.
By the end of the day, I'd stink of stale tobacco.
They didn't want to sit (or stand) next to me on the bus because I stank of smoke.

One of the first changes that is obvious to others around you, even if it isn't obvious to you or you pretend not to notice it, is that -within a day- your odour changes. The minute you butt out, shower and change into fresh clothes - you cease stinking of stale tobacco.
The next thing to tackle is the physical aspect.
Looking back, I wish I joined the gym during the same month I quit. I would not have experienced the two drag relapse in early January, if I did.
At the gym, the state of your physical fitness is made obvious and this (usually) poor fitness level can be used by the old smoker within as the excuse to return to the lethal stinky fold.
Fortunately for me, it wasn't about fitness. My reason to join the gym related to fitting into regular clothes.
In January, I'd run out of options. I no longer wanted to be a size 18-20 heifer that I became. By joining the gym, I'd take the first steps to shift the flab.
At first, I eased into the exercise, opting for circuit and treadmill sessions. After two months, I decided to join classes. Now I wish I began classes like bodypump earlier, but I shied away from showing my - to me - disgusting fatness to larger audiences. As far as I was concerned, my weight was as aesthetically challenging as it was when I was pregnant and gained 30 kilograms. The difference between that time and the present: I stopped smoking during pregnancy, and returned to the gym in a fitter state of being. Now, after more than fourteen years of smoking (post pregnancy), with two minor breaks (I'd start smoking within weeks), I was worse off.
As I write this, I'm psyching myself up for my weekly spin class.
It's a class that I'm finding difficult. It doesn't matter if I've spent four months at the gym beginning with treadmill, cross training machines, circuit, two months of bodypump classes...it doesn't prepare you for spin.
I'm not a leisure cyclist.
My other embarrassing confession: I don't know how to ride a real bike. The reason is straightforward, and indicative of how fat -despte what the ignorant fat activists say - ruins life. I was so fat as a 10 year old that I had difficulty balancing, so I'd topple over each time I'd try to ride a bike. Mind, I wasn't a fat toddler or child. I put it on after the age of 9.
It's difficult for me to learn to love spin in that energetic "I love it!" way. I can't say I like it, but which fat person likes spin?
Another question: Which recent non-smoker likes spin?
It may depend on the duration of their relationship with cigarettes. The longer you smoke, the more difficult it is, but perservering is the key.
What I do know is that I need to push myself further. I need to get myself back into the healthy groove, and somehow improve my lung capacity.
After a month of spin, I still don't see a visible respiratory improvement. I still struggle. I don't over exert myself or kid myself into thinking that I can cycle like the other masters in my class, but even with the resistance at a level the pros would find embarrassing, my lungs feel like they're burning as we're climbing imaginary hills or racing.
During such intensity, my lungs struggle and I will my blood cells to transport more oxygen to my lungs.
It's during this time that my biggest regret dominates my mind; I close my eyes and escape from the small room or the gung-ho spin instructor. It's as the sweat drenches my back, as my lungs scream for oxygen, that I regret ever picking up the first cigarette in my life.