Last year, at this time, there were two things that I was resisting out of a distaste for the activity and fear of the unknown. These two things were Spin class and dating. In a banal twist of fate (the common phrasing is more like “in a bizarre twist of fate,” but is it really bizarre that I would start dating again? Or that my FA would need to hop on a bike? No.), these are activities I’ve been engaging in quite frequently lately. At first, I couldn’t decide which was the more painful of the two, but they each have their benefits. However, it never occurred to me to combine these topics, until something happened at my last Spin class.
Sitting there in the dark, with the weird 80s roller-rink black light making the unicorns and moons glow on the walls of my gym’s ultra funky Spin room, the music was pumping and our instructor Cat cranked up my resistance while shouting her usual “Don’t cheat yourself!”—when it happened. The song ended, and some sort of steroid infused hip-hop version of Bonnie Tyler’s “Total Eclipse of the Heart” started to play.
This may not seem like a big deal to you, but for some reason that I’ve never been able to pinpoint, I go completely Pavlovian for that song. Every now and then, I fall apart. Nothing gets me in the mood quicker. Well not nothing, let’s leave a little room for the unpredictabilities inherent in one-on-one human contact, but it’s pretty gosh darn close.
And thus, worlds collided. But how to best capture this collision in a amusingly endearing piece of writing that will inspire you to click here to donate $12 to my Charity Badge and help Feeding America (formerly America’s Second Harvest) feed a family of four for a WEEK was a ponderous notion. What to do? What to do? What first popped to mind was how the sound bites Cat shouts at us during class could also be applied to various dating scenarios. The best, of course, being, “Don’t cheat yourself!”
Followed by:
- Show me what you’ve got.
- You’re not fooling anybody.
- Faster, faster, that’s it, so close.
- Now that’s what I like to see.
- Don’t give in to it.
But I decided the fun thing to do would be to compare how my personal mental time-line while suffering through a bad date can be surprisingly similar to that of a Spin class.
In the beginning, I am pumped and ready for anything. I instinctively dread the experience but work to keep an open mind. Feeling a little insecure about my body, I appreciate the dim lighting. For a while, I feel good, heart racing, skin tingling in anticipation. There is a slight moment of endorphin rush as the power of my body kicks in and its true strength overshadows my mental misconceptions. But I pace myself, because I am instinctively aware that it is too early to sap my reserves. Then things start to get hard. And I alternate between struggling to achieve my best and faking it. My whole being eventually aches with the effort and my mind drifts towards the comfort of what I might eat later as a reward. I snap those arrant thoughts back on task and concentrate my efforts towards the moment at hand. As the end draws near, I don’t think I’m going to make it. Everything hurts and there is a red flash of anger towards every moment in my past that has brought me to this bleak present. I push through because I know I can make it. Confident, because I’ve always made it before and stand stronger each time. When I burst through to the other side, my body explodes in relief and embraces sweet, sweet freedom. I’m a little sorer from the experience, but I know that ultimately it is shaping me towards my own brand of sass-sure woman. I’m still a little pissed off. But it is a happier pissed off. My hair no longer looks anything like it did when I left the house, but every war has its causalities.
There you have it. The biggest difference, however, between a bad date and my Spin class is that, at the end of Spin, our instructor Cat has us perform a series of stretches. The last one is to hug yourself, and she always says, “Really love yourself, but know that I love you more.”
Which may sound cheesy, but when it is uttered by a short squat woman who has been screaming at you for over an hour, it is surprisingly charming. If those words were spoken to me at the end of a bad date, I’m not sure I could classify it as a bad date anymore. To quote my Noir alter ego:
“When a man looks at you like you are an Angel, and kisses you like a high class call girl, that’s a man you hold onto, Detective. That’s a man you marry.”
Help me raise money and awareness for hunger relief while I strive to overcome lifelong food and body image issues. Ashamed at being unable to control my eating, I decided cleaning my plate wasn’t helping starving children anywhere but there are positive things I can do every day to help end hunger and inspire myself to be healthy. If you’d like to donate towards my goal, click here.
