When You Find Yourself Spinning

Brian takes his first (and maybe last) spin class with a co-worker

Have you ever found yourself sitting on the floor in a darkened room, covered in sweat, regretting each and every life decision you’ve ever made up to that point?

That was me on Saturday morning. I was about 12 minutes into a spin class.

It was my first-ever spin class. Sure, I rode the stationary bicycle at the local Planet Fitness before. And I’ve rode it hard and for extended periods of time — thank you to Limp Bizkit blaring through my headphones!

But this past Saturday was something totally different from what I’ve ever experienced.

I “won” the spin class thanks to my co-worker, Sharon.

I had been talking to Sharon about spin on Friday because my oldest son had taken his first spin class on Thursday. He’d called me on the way home to tell me all about it.

I’ve been interested in taking a spin class because: 1. it’s low impact, and 2. because there’s loud music. And 3. because my long-time idol, former SportsCenter anchor Dan Patrick, has talked about his enthusiasm for spinning.

Sharon belongs to The Cycle Yard, a local pilates and spin studio, which was offering a contest in which members could enter a friend in a drawing to win a free spin session as part of its Biketoberfest. The event’s aim is to help raise funds for members who will be running as part of Allied Service’s team in next month’s New York City marathon to help under-insured and uninsured pediatric patients in Northeast Pennsylvania.

As luck would have it, I will never win the lottery, but I won the drawing for the spin class.

I should have known I was in trouble when the first thing they made me do was sign a waiver.

Never a good sign, but I signed it anyway.

As we moved into the spin class studio, I was measured for the bike, making sure the seat was at the correct height. The instructor mentioned something about a “hip flexor.” I’m not sure if I even have one of those, but she eyeballed where I guess mine would be.

Then we adjusted the pedal straps for my feet. Wearing a size 14 sneaker, I had to expand them as far as they would go, similar to what I’ve been doing to my belts the last 20 years or so.

And then it was time to ride.

I don’t know if all spin studios are the same, but this room had walls painted black, a disco ball hung from the ceiling in the middle of the room, and one of the walls covered with nearly full length mirrors. I hadn’t been in a room decorated like this since before I was married.

Erica was the name of one of the two instructors, who each wore matching hot pink tank-tops and black bottoms. Think the 1980s WWF tag team, the Heart Foundation, only with cycling.

Erica is cute as a chipmunk and cheerful as a pompom. Erin, her tag-team partner, sported a tattoo on her right thigh. Speaking of thighs, hers were also incredibly and perfectly toned. The only thing Erin and I had in common was the fact we were both wearing Hokas on our feet.

If you’ve never been to a spin class, think of it as one part Britney Spears concert, one part Tony Robbins infomercial. The instructors wear headsets with little microphones. In fact, if Britney and Tony were ever to mate, they would undoubtedly spawn the perfect spin instructor: playfully cute, with a perfunctory hint of sexuality, combined with an endless ability to spew motivational messages to a room full of panting, hog-sweat lathered disciples.

As I quickly found out myself.

Only a few minutes in, and a few turns of the resistance nob, I was covered with a glistening sweat, feeling light-headed, and sure my heart was about to explode up through my esophagus and out of my mouth. I could have been at a P. Diddy party, for all I knew.

Erica, however, kept us focused and encouraged. “Good job.” “Thirty more seconds.” “You’ve got this.” One of the instructors gave me a shout-out! I peddled harder.

Not only were my thighs burning and my ass sore, but the muscles in my arms, some I had never even known existed before, started to throb.

I looked over to my right, at Sharon, looking for some empathy, but she was focused, busy climbing invisible hills with the rest of the pack. The cyclist on my left, who it was announced early on in the session would be competing in the next weekend’s Marine Corps Marathon in Washington D.C., I couldn’t even muster the courage to look at. So I kept my head down, and continued to peddle.

A former spin instructor herself, Sharon just recently got back into spinning this summer. She says it helps her relieve the tension from the office, which includes not only dealing with our sometimes demanding customers and illogical associates, but also maybe the fact she has to spend roughly 35 hours a week stuck sitting in the same office with me.

I finally had to sit back down in “the saddle” as Sharon and the others continued pushing, crunching, and keeping the beat to the music.

But I continued to peddle.

Sharon had texted/warned me: “You DO NOT need to be at the same level as everyone else, you listen to your body and do what feels best for you!”

I finally came to a point where I had to consider was it worth the valor by remaining on the bike and pushing myself, or risk the embarrassment of being the 6-foot-3, 260-ish pound man sprawled out on the floor of a darkened spin studio.

As the proverb goes, “Discretion is the better part of valor.”

I dismounted from the bike. I tried to stand next to the bike. You know, for support.

My legs wobbled beneath me. Finally, I decided to lower myself onto the step between the first row of cycles and the elevated second row.

There I sat, hugging my legs, trying to catch my breath, just as Erica was instructing the class on breathing, “In through your nose…and out…”

I sat there for a few minutes.

Alone with my thoughts, I regretted the McDonald’s I’d eaten that morning for breakfast. I questioned why I hadn’t more frequently opened the door to the Planet Fitness in the last year, even while I’m still paying “only” $20 a month for a membership, which continuously mocks me every time I drive by the building on my way to a kid’s practice, the library, or the ice cream parlor!

Finally, after enough of feeling sorry for myself, and wondering just how embarrassed Sharon must feel for bringing the giant ogre curled up on the studio floor to a spin class, I channeled my inner Steven Tyler and I got back in the saddle again.

I peddled and pushed. I got into second position. I went into third position. Erica came over and checked on me. I assured her I was fine.

I did a sprint to the finish line.

I was done.

With the spin class.

And maybe spinning all together.

The Cycle Yard is located at 350 Kennedy Boulevard, Pittston, Pennsylvania 18640.

Check out their social media:

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/thecycleyard/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/thecycleyardPA

You can follow Erica and Erin’s New York City Marathon journey by following Team Allied Services on Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/stories/teamalliedservices/