Gone with the Schwinn

 

"It's a good thing frogs can hop, otherwise I'd be gone with the Schwinn!" ~ Kermit the Frog

 
















I went to my first spin class last night.

For the first 45 minutes, I hated it. I fully realize that’s a long time to hate any activity, especially one I voluntarily entered into. But it’s true. Felt as if my feet were strapped into a medieval torture device that kept spinning 'round and 'round and 'round and... well, you get the point.

You see, I’ve never really been a great bicyclist. Not since I was seven years old and cracked my skull during a gnarly bike accident on an old country lane in Puerto Rico. I think the nearest emergency room was about 150 miles away. (That was the first of my nine, cat-like lives.)

When I was ten, I wanted to be like all the teenagers in my neighborhood who cruised down the street without their hands on the handlebars. They made it look so easy. Well, it just so happened, the moment I tried this feat saying, “Look ma, no hands!” the front tire hit an uneven patch of pavement. I was thrown over the front handlebars and skidded on my left cheek for several feet. Me and bicycles, we’ve never really gotten along.

Yet last night, there I was. Looking down the shiny barrel of a Schwinn. Trying to make amends after all these years.

As my muscles burned, I tried desperately to think of something else – anything else – than what I had gotten myself into. I wondered, was it too late to jump off of the bike? Pretend I had mistakenly walked into the wrong class? Mistakenly gone to all of the trouble of dragging the cycle over to my corner of the classroom? My classmates would hardly fall for it. They were sweaty, but they weren't stupid.

So, I kept pedaling. My legs responded to the cues being barked out by the spin instructor. Out of saddle! Hill training! Crank up the tension a notch, another quarter turn! While pedaling, I tried to inspire myself by making a mental list of the thinnest, most fit people I know - all of whom just happen to take spin class. It pleasantly confirmed that this workout must be a caloric barn burner. I thought of Lance Armstrong, Lars Boom, and all of those other waifish cyclists strutting around in their spandex shorts. This would all be worth it in the end, I mused.

Then, my mind drifted to what it means to stick something out. Especially when you’re uncomfortable. Especially when you’re trying something new. Or in my case, something so old it feels like new.

As adults, I think we get so locked into our daily routine (even our workout routine), that we forget to challenge ourselves, to challenge our bodies. To step outside of our comfort zone. Ironically, it was around that point I actually began to feel more comfortable.

Then, something happened. We entered the cooldown phase. A full 45 minutes had passed. Suddenly, my legs relaxed, the pedals started flowing, and I felt like a kid riding downhill on a sweet summer day. Not a pothole in sight.

It was at that moment I realized: I have made peace with the bike.

By no means am I giving up running. No siree. I have no plans to go out and purchase a shiny new toy any time soon. Nor become the next Lana Armstrong. But overcoming my fear of the bike? Well, it will certainly help me add one more tool to my training toolbox – one more cross-training routine for my repertoire – in this long journey of physical fitness. All of which will help me make it to the starting line of the marathon this Fall.

Let's roll!