My RPM Training Experience

It's been a week since training to be an RPM instructor. RPM is another Les Mills fitness program, an indoor cycling class where you ride to the rhythm of music.

My club is in desperate need of instructors and I find there's a bit of pressure to instruct more than one discipline. Since I'm horribly uncoordinated (read: clumsy), step aerobics or any of those dancey-dance aerobics are out of the question. My voice isn't exactly soft and calm so I can't teach the yoga-ish class either. RPM? Sure, sign me up.

Training was only for two days. We began with a master class, the only one of the weekend. Had I known, I would have paid better attention to the master trainer's cues in the hopes of picking up something cool.

In fact, we didn't spend a lot of time on the bike. I was led to believe that we'd be spinning the whole time. So much of the weekend was discussing musicality and the finer points of being a Les Mills instructor. This was fine because out of the 20 participants, only three were certified instructors (one taught AquaFit and the other instructor went to Pump training with me last fall, funny enough).

The focus of the program has changed. They used to encourage RPM participants to ride to their own top level. Now, one needs to find the beat of the music, and stay on it while having enough resistance on the bike. It's a goal to reach for many, including me. I'm running out of gas before the class ends.

There are nine songs in one RPM class; seven are working and the last two are recovery and stretch. I lose pace by the end of track 6 but I'm getting better. I have to. Apparently, if I don't have the correct pace for more than 15 seconds in my certification video, I will fail. Yes, it's necessary to film prospective instructors teaching a whole class. An assessor will then pick apart every move made and every word spoken. No pressure.

The first day ended with a bit of a bang. After learning how to set up a bike (all of us were riding in the wrong positions), proper form, and a bit of prompting, we were ready for the Ride of Truth. It sounded so fierce but really was just a series of time trials. It was tough but not unreachable. Cycle to the beat of the music for 30 seconds. Then 60. Then two minutes. Then five. Something like that. Those participants who hadn't taken many RPM classes prior to training had their work cut out for them, but I was warned and prepared.

We were assigned tracks to learn overnight and be ready to teach to the class the next morning. I was given the last working track, which was tiring but suited my gruff persona well. Besides, I had instruction experience with Body Pump so I was well ahead of the game.

I came home (training was only 30 minutes from my house), listening to the music in the car. I pretty much had it memorized, feeling confident that I could bat this one out of the park with a bit more time to spend on it.

But welcoming me home were Daughter and Baby Boy with a lovely case of the chicken pox. Daughter felt it coming on not an hour after coming home from the babysitting course she took that day. Baby Boy had one solitary mark on his waist when I checked on him. Ten minutes later, they started coming up FAST. By the evening, he was entirely covered. I have never seen anyone get it worse than he did. He had them inside his mouth, on his tongue, down his throat (he said), just all over. He was in agony or else he just has a really low threshold for pain. He was up and down all night. Thus, I only got two hours of sleep and no time to prepare my track.

We had to present immediately at the start of the class. My track 7 had to have energy and intensity. Sure, I knew my choreography but my instructor mojo was gone – still in bed where I should have been catching up on my sleep. The other participants were gobsmacked at my teaching. "Great use of your voice." "Your cues are so fluid." "You seemed so comfortable up there." Whatever. I sucked. I knew it. The master trainer knew it. I could have done sooooo much better but I just wasn't on my game. My pace was off. I let my form go once or twice. Yes, I wasn't nervous but that comes with experience. I learned at my Fitness Instructor Specialist course that what you lack in substance can sometimes be made up by attitude. I think it's a cop-out, though. I strive to deliver awesomeness every single time. And I didn't. My standards are high.

So we watched the videos the trainer took of us teaching. She asked me how I felt how I did. I said I sucked, followed by a chorus of "No way!" The trainer just smiled. She knew that I knew what she knew, you know?

More blah, blah, blah about cues and musicality and attitude. A break for lunch had me try my first Booster Juice. I ordered a strawberry protein shake that sat really heavy. I wish I had a coffee.

The afternoon was yet more sitting around and discussing how we can care for members (name retention, keeping it "real", and other ways of connecting). We were back up on the bikes for one final crack at teaching our tracks. The master trainer actually came up WHILE I was instructing to give me criticism. Um, I'm teaching here?! Where were we? Oh, yeah. Add resistance and standing climb!

I sort of felt the trainer didn't like me much. She constantly would ask me for my opinion based on experiences and then shoot them down in flames. "That is just not me. But, hey, if that works for you, Jen, whatever." Her way was the best. I didn't pick any fights. Yes, you are the master trainer. I bow to you. And I did. I was very open about it. She was even in one of the Pump training videos so I went in there admiring her before having ever met her.

In hindsight, I think she was really frustrated. It's unusual for training to have so few certified instructors. She really had to start from scratch many times.

Most of all, there was one participant who just wouldn't shut up that was giving the trainer much grief. She was so annoying. She was one of those people who had to give her opinion (always unsolicited). Any time someone spoke, she had something to say. Someone would give their fitness stories (always based on a bad high school experience, it seemed), this woman would turn it into My Life Sucked More Than Yours - a game for two or more players. We never heard the end of how difficult the Ride of Truth was for her. Suck it up, princess. Are you up for this? It's kinda like the wolf complaining about the wool stuck in his teeth.

At the end, we did the Les Mills hongee (I'm spelling it wrong, I'm sure, but it's a Maori greeting) and everyone got their pass. The trainer pulled me aside and said, "I want you to know it was a real pleasure meeting you." How nice. But I'll bet when I see her at the national conference this summer, she'll look right through me. Such is life.

And back to my chicken poxed babies and a sink full of dirty dishes.