It’s 5:45 a.m. on a recent Tuesday, and I arrive at the fitness center for my first spin class. It’s a new form of exercise for me, precipitated by an upcoming biking trip that I want to be ready for. I’ve taken multi-day biking adventures before, and you need to train. Sitting on a spartan and unforgiving bike seat without preparation is not a position you ever want to be in. Screaming lungs and burning quads minimize the beauty and joy of biking outdoors.
I’m a bit on edge, having never taken a cycling class before. I don’t relish indoor group exercise, and I dislike situations where fitness comparison to others is inevitable. I’m not overly concerned about my aerobic capability, but visions of Peloton commercials with buff thirty-year-olds linger in the back of my mind. Intellectually, I know there is no leaderboard and that I won’t be called out for riding the Bike of Shame. But still, standing up on a bike is hard, and sticking up for the pride of a mature, first-time spinner is even harder.
The bubbly and athletic group leader kindly positions the bike seat for me and encourages me to ride at my own pace and to have fun. Those around me are warming up by pedaling quickly and vigorously while chatting with each other with the ease of warm familiarity. My legs twirl slowly and randomly, as if they know they need to save themselves for what lies ahead.
The music begins, and the instructor explains what “moves” our ride will entail. Moves? What moves? The only possible move on a bicycle is rotating your legs in a circle. But ever one who aspires to fit in, I just smile and nod my head like a seasoned spinner, all the while hoping that no one determines I’m a poser.
The tempo quickens. I keep pace by lowering the resistance, which I do surreptitiously to save face. The instructions get louder and faster, and the “stand up” barks become dreaded staccatos reminiscent of a military boot camp.
Suddenly there’s a hill climb introduced by Aerosmith’s song, Dream On. I lean physically forward and emotionally inward and watch, mesmerized by the reflection of my legs churning in the mirror in front of me. The song’s lyrics replace my thoughts:
Every time when I look in the mirror
All these lines in my face getting clearer
The past is gone
It went by, like dusk to dawn.
My eyes unexpectedly fill with tears. Abruptly, my fellow bikers drift away, the leader’s directives quiet, and it’s just me and the bike. I rise and churn, the pain in my legs softened by the fullness of my heart. I pump vigorously, fueled by endorphins and gratitude. I no longer care who is around me, who is stronger, or what they think of me.
I crest the hill and lower the resistance to emulate a downhill segment. With every turn, the burn in my legs abates and is replaced by an abundance of appreciation. I grab a small towel and wipe my eyes under the pretense of mopping a sweaty brow. I am imbued with the potential and promise of this moment:
Sing with me
Sing for the years
Sing for the laughter
Sing for the tears.
Yearn forward, and dream on, my friend.