Ride

Recently, I tackled my first Spin class, at a spin club in Vancouver called Ride Cycle Club. For those of you who have never attempted this feat, I do urge you to give it a go. I wussed out about going for a really long time, for no good reason, except that I feared I might find it too difficult. I went, I loved it, and I am so happy I did. It was such an experience. that even before I had left the building, the "review" below had already written itself. I did actually send the piece to the club, and got a response from the owner, Ashley. She graciously praised it, saying that it made her day, and asking permission to share it with the ride community. I hope it is enjoyed by others as well, and hope that it inspires you to try spin, and not to be scared to sweat, and to try new things.

Ride

I wake up feeling nervous the way I used to before a track meet when I was a kid. Its not the kind of nervous that I was going to just miss first place by a fraction of a second, it is more the kind of nervous that you might get last or give up and lie down on the grass halfway. But I don't like doing things halfway.

This feeling is what brought me to my first spin class. Well, really it was Amber who invited me, but it was my desperate need to prove I can do almost anything anyone else can that made me agree, despite the crippling fear that I would be exposed as the fraud I am, as I am not as fit as I may appear at the moment.

We agree to meet at the 11am class. Always the keener, I am too early so I loiter outside until it is socially acceptable to go sign in. The first thing that happens is I see JJ Wilson, Chip Wilson's son, so I already know I must be in the coolest spin club in the city, making me feel immediately hipper. The second thing that happens is the front desk girl asks loudly and politely over the crowd and music "Is this your first time?" I've been spotted. My confused Spin Virgin eyes (also the same as the eyes of a meerkat about to be devoured by hyenas) have given me away. My cool factor tanks. I sign the waiver without reading it, as it is flipped over on the clip board so most of it is covered anyways. Standard stuff I am sure.

I get my clip shoes, which thankfully are not foreign to me due to my mountain biker past times. I get a locker and wait on a bench for Amber. She arrives and we take our place at the front, to the right of the instructor. The girl who comes to help us set up our bikes is the girl who took over my old job when I left lululemon. We chat and reminisce, although all I can really think about is that I hope she doesn't tell the team about my eminent fainting and falling off the bike. I like to believe I still have a small amount of street cred to maintain.

The things that make this particular studio special is that the classes are done in the near darkness and they blast dance music at club like volumes. In short, it's awesome. This particular fact is unfortunately not what I am focused on as I hop on to the bike and clip in. There are weights on the bikes, 2lbs on Amber's, 1lbs on mine. She says she wants to find 1lb weights, I offer to trade. She asks if I am sure and I cockily state that I have been lifting weights for 12 years, I'm sure I'll be fine. I take the 2lbs.

Our instructor's name is Ashley, and I find out later she is the owner. She is an impressive little brunette woman who is part Drill Sergeant, part DJ, part Yoga Instructor, and part Cheerleader. She's the kind of girl who you are immediately jealous of but in an admiring way. You feel like you might just absorb some of her energy by being in the same room.

The class begins, I am happy not to be called upon to put up my hand as a noob, as I am sure it is already painfully obvious. It is clear there will not be much sitting down during this class. Thankfully there is a fan behind me, as I am already sweating. Apparently the thing about spinning that no one ever told me is there is a lot of other things you have to do that are not spinning, like pulsing your arms up and down like a push-up. I swear, half the front row pulsed in perfect time to the music the whole class. When we were actually instructed to pulse, I felt like I was between falling flat on my handlebars from exhaustion and feeling so out of beat, that I would stall and my legs would snap straight, throwing me to an awkward stop.

About 15 minutes in, my lungs were burning, I was avoiding turning my resistance up by about a third of what it was supposed to be at, and my sweat towel was my new best friend. I was so happy we were in the dark, which made it acceptable to take your shirt off. At this point I decided that I should have read the waiver, because it probably said stuff like "Not liable for regurgitation of one's lungs" and "In the event that you require a stretcher, you will be responsible for the costs." I was seriously doubting if this was Amber's way of saying she wants to end our friendship, especially during the weights portion. I cursed my overconfidence as the 2lb weights I was raising above my head made me feel weaker by the rep. I seriously considered abandoning them altogether.

The music was nothing short of rave quality. Ashley was talking into a Madonna style headset mic, and counting down our pulses and push-ups over Dubstep remixes of Macklemore and electronically mastered rises and drops. Since my lungs had found their second wind, I gave myself over to the thrilling atmosphere and spun my little heart out. I really could feel it trying to escape my chest by beating so hard.

Normally, when you're in a club at 1:54am and the DJ calls out "This is your last song!" you groan and complain about how our bars should really stay open until 6am the way they do in Europe. When your spin instructor announces this, she becomes someone to be worshiped. It actually does make you want to spin with everything you have left so you leave it all behind on the bike. Your sweat that is. Cue towel.

The pulsing front row pros slow down, the resistance is turned off, and we do some group stretches. Ashley asks us to set an intention that we can go forth from the class with. Mine is that I will practice my spin skills at my gym so I can someday rock one of the coveted front row spots without shame.

As Amber and I exit, I assure her, that as she suspected, it was one of the greatest experiences ever. It is a kind of adrenaline you can't even get from well cooked street drugs. It's like finding a new form of masochistic religion that you have been looking for ever since you realized that Catholicism really doesn't cut it. Plus, it's frowned upon to wear spandex and no shirt to church. Borrrring.

Ride Cycle Club is a must on any fitness junkie's list, and a recommended for anyone ever. I text my boyfriend to inform him that I am still alive and we need to share this experience together ASAP. He enthusiastically says "Shit yeah baby!" I hope he still loves me when I am dragging him out of the class by his sweaty ankle.

You can find all their schedules and club details, here