Sweat and Perspective: Finding New Ways to Love My People Through Indoor Cycling
The first time I went to a spin class, I sprinted out half-way through and yacked in the bathroom.
No matter the reason, having your head in a toilet never feels like a proud moment. And in that moment, I certainly never expected to leave that day with any kind of excitement about returning.
But!
You guessed it. Indoor cycling, which can only be described as a communal dance party on a stationary bike, has come to be one of the most enriching physical activities I’ve found to date. And a great source of pride in my life. This is just a story about how I found spin, the relationships I’ve grown in through it, and my newfound capacity to feel lots of things because of it.
And it feels like the right time to tell this story, as I’ve recently entered this new phase of my life where I’m really excited about anything that helps me feel all the things - excitement, love, curiosity, grief, struggle, change. Anyone who knows me knows that not every chapter of my life has looked like this. One of my favorite writers, Glennon Doyle, says it best: “Being fully human is not about feeling happy. It’s about feeling everything”. Spin has helped me do just that.
I hope this story also serves as a gentle push to anyone who’s been procrastinating in getting more active to sign up for an indoor cycling class with your best friend.
Or, if you’re braver than I, go alone. A friend might be waiting there for you.
***
While I’ve always considered myself athletic, I didn't grow up doing the sports thing. At least not happily.
My parents signed me up for soccer, basketball, you name it. I remember having so much anxiety about going to games because I didn't have a single inkling as to what I was supposed to be doing out on the field. Today, I know that’s a result of ADD. But back then, all I knew was that I didn't hear a single word my coach had just said, ever, and now all of a sudden everyone’s running.
Gymnastics and cheerleading were really the only activities I excelled at – probably because I could just flip around and it didn't require a team counting on me to remember the rules, just the rhythm. I was really good at flipping around.
As an adult… Snowboarding, snowmobiling, paddleboarding, wake surfing - sign me up, brother. But softball, kickball, any and all organized sports - for sure count me out.
Flipping around: happy, confident girly.
Structure and rules: scared weirdo.
Because of all this, I’d never really felt the positive side of sports - when you’re giving all you physically have to something next to your friend, and all of the unexpected perspectives (about them, about you) this can bring.
Starting a journey toward better health is something I thought about for 10 years before it took hold. Knowing where to start can be really daunting, especially if fitness isn't something you grew up in the habit of. And because of that, fitness was always something that carried a little anxiety with it for me. I couldn't picture myself as someone whose life looked like what “fit” peoples’ lives look like.
You’d catch me on the pool table and the TouchTunes long before you’d catch me at the gym or a workout class. I was a poet and a bartender. A lover and a fighter. That was my story and I was sticking to it.
***
Enter: Spin Class
By this past December, indoor cycling had already been recommended to me a number of times. Alec, Ben and Talya (three of my favorite people who I used to work with at a brewery in downtown Grand Junction, Colorado) had started making a habit of going to classes together.
Trail Life Brewing is attached to an outdoor gear shop, Gear Junction. We’d get a lot of fun regulars who would come in to hang out and get lunch. Apparently there was a studio right downtown on Main Street called Revolution Cycle and two of our coolest regulars, Jaci and Justin, owned the place. I remember watching the whole Trail Life crew light up every time this couple walked through the door. Talk about two people who exude confidence and kindness hand in hand.
Going to a class sounded fun, kind of. But at that point, nothing had clicked in my brain that prompted me to book a ride. Spin was just one of those things that you remember when someone brings it up and never otherwise.
After leaving the restaurant and taking a job in an office, Alec, Ben, and Talya were the only things I missed about the service industry.
***
I grew up in the western suburbs of Philadelphia where, for the first time in years, I returned home for the most recent holiday season.
It’s not often that I’m able to make the trip back so leading up to it, my childhood best friend (Olivia) and I were determined to make the most of the few short days that we’d be in the same town again.
She suggested a spin class and I was immediately amped to go. There’s something about a good friend recommending a random activity you’ve recently heard of that puts you on a mission to make it happen. She booked our bikes at Stride Spin and Fitness in Phoenixville, PA and we texted each other every day for a week about how excited we were for it.
When I got into town, we decided to do dinner at an upscale Italian place the night before the class. These days, we live in different time zones and Olivia’s a mom to two little ones (and she really does it all) so any time we’re able to get together feels like a celebration. I responded accordingly and mixed a dirty martini with red wine. Classic Liz move.
We pulled up to the studio in the morning and I watched people flock to the front door. Olivia told me that the class was on a waitlist of 22 people, which I remember thinking was insane. I could hear the beat of the music from the parking lot.
We got situated inside and found our bikes. Olivia set mine up for me since, until I can start flipping around, I still never have any clue what’s going on in an organized setting. 😉 I’m working on it.
Since I didn't yet know how important it is to know your body and to pace yourself, I went a little too hard in the first ten minutes. Once I was certain there was no way I’d be making it through the class unscathed, I quickly unclipped from my bike, found the door, and then the bathroom. I’ll leave the rest of that portion of the story up to your imagination. Let’s just say I was reacquainted with another old friend: last night’s red wine.
After a few deep breaths and a moment of the euphoria that follows a good old fashioned undercover vom, I made my way back into the classroom with my head held high and found my bike again. That’s when the class turned into something really lovely.
I didn't realize that choosing the morning of Christmas Eve to attend my first workout class would have any weight behind it one way or another.
I just expected to suffer and then go home. But to give you a better idea of the kind of feel that the holiday timing brought with it, I should clarify that this was a room full of women.
After I succeeded in getting some real suffering out of the way, I was able to actually be present and hear what the instructor was saying. The loathing I had for her had dissipated, and as I, covered in unholy sweat, moved in rhythmic unison with all the women next to me, I started to feel the energy of the room for what it was, what she was commanding it to be - which was girlhood.
Not girlhood like boys couldn’t be there, though none were on this particular day, but girlhood like safety. And grit. And laughter and protection and rhythm and fierceness and softness and healing your inner child and headbutting the asshole who broke your sister’s heart all at once.
There’s a portion of every class where the lights go out, the performance dynamic disappears, and you can just ride for you. Or whoever you want to ride for.
I couldn't tell you a single thing our instructor said, but as I pedaled my little heart out in the dark next to sisters and daughters and aunts and mothers - and my lifelong best friend, who is all the above - I felt so proud of all that every single woman in that room had done to make this season special for everyone in their lives. And then, to really top it off, finding the time on Christmas Eve morning to do something cool for themselves.
I felt all the things. And after 27 years on this earth I felt ready to keep feeling everything.
Back in Colorado, I’ve finally joined my brewery crew in their habit of lunchtime spin classes at the local studio, Revolution Cycle.
Which is great news on all fronts because, as I mentioned, I had been missing them terribly.
Talya’s like a walking folk song. A drink slinging, plant gifting, hair chopping writer and vocalist. And an incredible friend. She is my people.
Alec and Ben, also my people, are big burly tough boys at first glance until you talk to them for 8 seconds. I was quite scared of Ben when I first met him, as he was the only coworker bold enough to quiz me on bar recipes. Alec’s also a musician, and a fellow English major and goofball, and truly one of the kindest hearted individuals I’ve had the pleasure of befriending. The boys know a lot about a lot, and they’re really excited to share it with you in a way that’s going to make you laugh and look at things differently.
And these big burly brewery boys are my people because they’re the kind of men who don’t blink at the idea of immersing themselves in the kind of spaces that people like me refer to as girlhood. They revel in it, make it their own, hype me and Talya up with a “Yes Queen”, and then go home to their baddie girlfriends.
These days, we all make a point of getting to the Friday class – and any other day in between that we’re all able to make it work. All week long, I look forward to getting together with these beautiful people, with whom I can find my rhythm and flip around. Sometimes we’ll get lunch afterwards to check in, catch up, and lock in a proper weekly yap.
Working in restaurants for 10 years was not where I was personally able to lean into my healthy era. That’s my own thing and it just wasn't my time yet. I’m so proud of my friends for finding their routine in a hobby that fills them up before they head in for a long bar shift. And for prioritizing it and supporting each other in it. Especially when lesser wholesome means of having a good time remain at the forefront of everyday lives in our culture, and especially in the service industry scene.
They’re stronger, and braver, than I.
Last month, the three of them pulled together and purchased a month of unlimited classes for me as a birthday present.
They got me flowers and access to something I love and switched their shifts around to show up for my birthday ride. We all went out to lunch afterwards and the owners of the studio joined us, along with some other classmates I hardly knew. I sat there looking at everyone and was overcome with gratitude for the kindness they’ve all shown me, and continue to show me, on any given day. I remembered the line I told my little sister years ago as she was leaving for college and my dad asked me to provide some parting wisdom:
There’s nowhere you don’t belong.
I realized that I was writing a new, healthy chapter of my story that had so far consisted mainly of pool tables and TouchTunes. And that it didn't erase that part of me, it was just the latest edition of me. Cheers to perspective.
And at our core, we’re all still service industry folk. We cleared that restaurant out of their bottom shelf tequila before 2pm.
***
Every ride now, when the lights go out in my Colorado studio, I think about Olivia back in Pennsylvania.
I miss her. And I also smile. I feel grateful for this space she pulled me into, and I remember all that love I felt just being next to her as I grew up. And even on the other end of the country, as we go about our everyday lives physically apart from each other, she’s given me a new way to lean into love, for myself and my people. Classic Olivia move.
I also think about all the things you think about when you’ve watched someone grow up, endure terribly hard things and still choose to maintain a softness toward the world and raise her children without a shortness of love.
Last week, I went home again for my grandfather’s funeral where she sat next to me in the front pew holding my hand.
We did another class while I was back in town and I sat there looking at the two of us in the mirror on our bikes. Thinking back to elementary, middle and high school that we lived through together, and what our silly lives looked like, I never would've guessed that indoor cycling would be the thing to show me that there’s a version of this life where she and I were always going to be OK.
Cheers to perspective.
And to feeling everything.
