zenjones

This year I tried taking classes on a stationary bike. I’d never done it before, and whenever I told someone I was thinking of it, they usually shook their heads and said something like, “That’s for animals!”

Ever since I injured myself five years ago, I have not been able to run, and I have not been able to find an activity that would get my heart rate out of its sluggish rut. Spinning did that, and more.

The most valuable thing about spinning, however, was not the physical effects, but the awareness effects. It was a lot like practice period items where you take yourself out of your habitual, comfortable rituals and plonk yourself right in the middle of something new and awkward.

I started out terribly self-conscious. I was older by 20 years and heavier by 40 pounds than everyone in my class and, at first, I needed long breaks for my red face to fade from heart-attack-purple to sun-stroke-pink. In a way, it was kind of liberating. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone and there’s no way I was going to. I gave myself up to the clutziness and just enjoyed it. In fact, I was so glad to be over-50 and not having to worry about what the guy behind me thought of my butt. I just stopped worrying what people would think and thought about what was important to me.

My workouts were my workouts. If I wanted to coast along that was okay. As I got more stamina, I started having fun seeing how fast I could make those pedals turn and impressing the heck out of myself. And the music! The music was fantastic—a lot of it was songs I’d never heard before, y’know, songs the kids are listening to. But I sat right under the speaker and there were times that I felt the music in a way I hadn’t done since I was chooblin’ at Grateful Dead happenings in the sixties.

And then it became really fun, in a way that exercise had never really been for me. I felt so much better on days when I took the class. I’m sure it was because of endorphins and heart rate and adrenalin and whatever, but it was also the act of doing something where all I really had to do was be aware.

So I get to work on judgements and attachments and envy and acceptance and pity and smugness, superiority. But there are also lovely moments of joy, of being in my body and feeling how dutifully it works, how it gets stronger, how really fabulous it is to stretch out those calf muscles, how lovely it is to stop. And how good it is to be 50-something wearing  skintight bike shorts with the three-inch-thick seat pad, and not care if other people think I look funny. Too much.