Wednesday night I tried an exercise class as a method of cross-training for my second half marathon coming up in February. I'm sure many of you are familiar with Spin classes. Some of you shudder at the very mention of the name as you see a brief flash of yourself sweating, gasping for breath, and fighting the urge to throw up---much like the image I see in my own head of myself as I attempted to make it through an hour of pedaling against burning muscles.
If I didn't know the instructor is such a godly woman, I'd swear she was a devil on a Spin bike pedaling furiously to the backdrop of heavy metal debauchery. And yes, I do believe that was a wicked smile on her lips as she bellowed at all of her sweaty subjects to turn it to a 7. What?! Seven?! I'm dying here on a 5, woman! At first I at least went through the motions of pretending to turn the evil little tension knob, but as the class progressed, I shamelessly abandoned my quest of maintaining appearances.
Instead, I concentrated on the sweat that plastered my hair to my face and ran down the length of my back and wondered why there was no trash can in the room in case I lost my battle with cycling-induced nausea.
See, here's the deal. I'll be back at that class every week until I can make it a minute and fifty-eight seconds while pedaling at 100% capacity on a 10. As Barney Stinson would say, "challenge accepted." (How I Met Your Mother fans, I salute you.) That Spin bike will not get the best of me. I will not go down without a fight. I'll be there sweating and hyperventilating each week because that sweat reminds me that I'm strong. It reminds me that my body was made to accomplish things other than having four kids. It reminds me that God put a fire in all of us that is meant to burn bright in many different areas of life once it's lit.
So, I'll be back. I just may bring a trash can with me next time.