Spin (and Win)

About two and a half weeks ago, I took a spin class with two of my closest friends. I thought I would be fine. I ran a marathon. Eight years ago. I go to the gym. I was there three times last month. And I'm gay. So I figured that spinning would be my thing. Boy, was it not my thing. At least that day and in the week that followed. A famous playwright was teaching this spin class. So I figured, "How hard can it possibly be?" We're not known for our physicality and our stamina. I write three lines and I'm ready for a nap. Or a chocolate. Or a blow job. The point is that I'm ready for a reward after doing barely any work.

But the music came on. It felt like Sheila had the "Now, That's What I Call Music 400" compilation on speed dial. I heard the LMFAO. I probably heard some Lady Gaga or something else clubby. At first, it was fine. Just pedaling. I thought I had it in the bag. Then we had to get up and pedal upright. What the fuck? That was just unfair torture. After the first 10 minutes of class, I thought I was going to throw in the towel. I couldn't believe how quickly spin class was kicking my ass. I didn't understand the rhythm of the standing cycle. It's not pedaling. It's more like dance, where you shift your weight and you move to the rhythm. I was about to walk about for the second ten minutes of class. We were in the front. I wasn't sure how I was going to explain it to Sheila or David or Cory. I was ashamed of myself. I was doing so poorly. I looked in the mirror at the folks behind me. They were sweating, but they were pumping hard. I hated them. I felt like they were judging me.

The class was in Silverlake. I had worn my heather grey "Mustangs" t-shirt ironically and I was sporting a man bun and wood. The man bun was giving me major wood! I was hipsteriffic (or hips terrific - as my autocorrect was just trying to tell me). In the land of hipsters, I should have had this by the shaved balls. But I did not. Spin had ME by the shaved balls and the trimmed pubes. Oh, it had me with the viciest vice grip ever. But then something happened…

Half way through I got the rhythm.  Rhythm isa dancer and my dance training got me through the rest of the class. As did my marathon training. When you're running a marathon and pushing your body to the max, you don't stop. You keep going. Even if at Mile 8 you realize you made a big mistake three weeks earlier when you ran your last big training fun (20 miles) about one hour faster than you should have. So I kept going. I kept going and pumping and I was looking so good with my glistening sweat and my man bud, which did NOT come undone. I got off the bike at the end of class, almost lost my footing because my legs were Jello. But it didn't matter. I had finished. And I lived to tell the tale.

Until two days later when my legs were so stiff that I couldn't move for three more days. It was bad. But my stamina training taught me to keep going: mind over matter. But mind over matter's only good until they have to amputate your legs.

But I kept going. I moved around gently. But I still moved around. An entire week of writing was shot because I couldn't get into a comfortable enough place. I couldn't sit down. I couldn't stand. I couldn't lie down. I couldn't be on my back or on my side. It was horrible. But I learned something. I learned that I could focus and push beyond all obstacles. And yes, there would be pain later. But I'm not afraid of pain.

Today, I got back on a bike. Immediately after class--and even during my leg crisis--I felt like I had found another thing I love like running. Despite the pain, I knew I'd be back on a bike shortly. I fucking loved it. I do love to suffer, it's true. But I love how it made me feel. I loved how sweaty I got. And I love how I was able to stay in one place and just focus on what's directly in front of me.

I'm not going to stop for pain and discomfort. I'm not going to stop because I'm tired. I'm going to keep going. And then I'm going to have to spend time in recovery because I pushed myself too hard. But by pushing myself too hard, I release my toxins and I exorcise my demons. After the spin incident, I could feel my body getting rid of toxins. Not to get gross, but my urine was darker. I had stuff I had to flush out. It was a cleanse. And when I write at a certain pace, it is a cleansing experience as well.

Sheila's spin class reminded me that writing is surpassing one's limits…and then recovering. You have to do both or you won't be able to do it all over again and get better and stronger over time.

I am grateful for physical lessons that become intellectual ones.
I am grateful for my leg strength.
I am grateful for my stamina.
I am grateful for great fun.