Spin class - aka Bikes of Toment

Spin.  This is a curious word, because when spoken out loud, it seems to cause the same reactions in people as the word “tequila.”  People shudder, dry retch, close their eyes, moan painfully and say things like, “No, God no, never again…”  Spin class, which is simply a bunch of stationary bikes in a room, is known the world over for being a brutal and sadistic experience.  Having never tried spin personally, I headed down to Ashmore PCYC gym to work out what all the fuss was about.

Walking into the spin room, I was confronted by dozens of bikes and a very tiny instructor.  She greeted me with a huge, sweet smile and considerately helped me adjust my bike to an optimum seating position.  With gentle words, she explained that the little lever would increase the resistance when pushed up and where to look to see how fast I was pedaling. 

As the rest of the class filtered in, I observed the kinds of people who were spin enthusiasts.  Our group contained a few well-honed bodies, but there were also several larger people and a granny.  With my bike cruising along at warm up speed and people laughing and chatting around me, it felt very relaxed and social.  The lovely instructor switched off the main lights and bathed the room in the glow of UV bulbs, sending all white objects a brilliant purple.  It was fun and different and I felt raring to go.  “What are people complaining about?” I wondered…

I didn’t wonder for long.  Warm up finished and my friendly instructor suddenly morphed into a screaming commando.  “Come on people!  Get those legs moving!  I can see you’re not working hard enough from here – LET’S GO!!!”  Blindsided, I pumped my legs as fast as I could, hoping it would get easier.

Nope.  Over the next 40 minutes, I ran a full and extreme range of emotions:

Fear: “Oh God!  Please don’t let her look at me!  Please let this end!” 

Childishness:  “NO!  I will NOT give you another 10 second sprint!  I DON’T WANT TOO!!!” 

Anger:  “ForGET you lady, I don’t have to put up with this.  Push YOUR resistance up…” 

Nausea:  “Yup.  I’m gonna vomit.  I really am.  Lucky there’s a basket by the door…”

And grief:  “I CAN’T, I CAN’T!  (Tears roll silently down my face)  I’m just hopeless!  You’ve broken me!!!”

But when I looked at the display on the bike of pain at the end of class, I realised I’d burnt a ridiculous amount of calories.  Leaving on shaky legs, I waved at the instructor, back to her perky self again. 

“Bye!” she called after me cheerfully.  “See you again soon!”  I let out a manic giggle that made a few people look up from their stretching and smile at me knowingly.

For two days I walked like a cowboy, and I really did think I was done with bikes that went nowhere.  But I kept thinking about that amazing calorie count and coupled with my resolve to try every new class 3 times before writing it off, I went back again later that week and once more a few days later.

And you know what?  My thighs actually changed shape!  And my belly got tighter!  And the sprints and hill climbs, well, they didn’t get easy, but they did get easier.  The resistance levels that seemed impossible on the first day had become an intense and satisfying challenge.  I even converted enough to approach a couple of new girls after their first class as they lay glassy-eyed on the floor.  “Don’t worry,” I said confidently, “It gets better.”

Spin classes are available at most gyms around the Gold Coast and range in price from $10-$20 a class. 

The Happiness Plateau

Smudge has just finished up at Kindy and started at school.  About a week before he made the transition, he informed me, “Mummy, Kindy doesn’t make me happy.”

“Why not?”  My over-active imagination begins to fill up with worst case scenarios.  Maybe he’s being bullied by other boys.  Or maybe he’s being bullied by girls.  Is there a Kindy teacher secretly abusing my child, or has he suddenly developed agoraphobia?

Of course, it’s a simple explanation.  “I don’t like rest time.  I get bored!”

We made it through the last few days, but the question stayed with me, because of how he phrased it:  “It doesn’t make me happy.”

If there’s one topic even more dividing than Miley Cyrus, it’s happiness.  There are millions of books, studies, pod casts and web pages dedicated to the pursuit of this elusive beast.  I actually didn’t have any intention of adding to the already vast pile, but as a mummy, this is a subject which slaps me in the face regularly.

Have you ever felt like your motherhood journey will be perfect when?  For example, “I’ll be so glad when he starts sleeping through,” or “God, I can’t wait till she’s three,” or “It’s much easier once they start school.”  We set ourselves these markers, and expect that we’ll be happy when we reach them.  Instead, we just find the mountain keeps going up, and happiness seems to be elusive.

It’s not just in our parenting lives where we feel this phenomenon.  How many times have you heard your girlfriends lament, “If only I could lose these last five kilos….  If only he’d propose…  If only I’d get that promotion…  Then I’d be happy.”  But it’s garbage:  the five kilos come off and we despair over our loose stomach folds.  She gets married and worries that she’s made the wrong choice.  The promotion happens and the work load doubles. 

There’s also my least favourite happy mantra:  “I’d be happy if I was rich.”  Now, people say that money doesn’t buy happiness, which isn’t exactly true.  If you live below the poverty line, more money will actually increase your happiness, up to a certain point. 

But if, like me and millions of other Aussies, you’re not a homeless person, just a family wavering financially between “just okay” and “kind of okay,” the stats show that an unexpected inheritance or a work bonus won’t actually increase your happiness beyond three months.  That’s it.  

My hubby loves buying lotto tickets, and delights in having long, detailed discussions with me about exactly what we’d do with the $6.8 million, including the breakdown of what we’d give to our extended family, the size of the jetty on our waterfront mansion and the itinerary for our round the world trip.

I loathe the lottery and the conversations associated with it.  I have a really visceral reaction to imaginary spending of pretend winnings.  My toes curl up, my body temperature rises and I leave the room.  Unfortunately, I know too much about the correlation between dollars and smiles. 

Think about it: when we were teenagers, we probably had more disposable income than we do right now, but were we happier?  How many stories have we read about the idiot who won lotto and was broke a year later?  Or realise that the last time we jumped income brackets, we just found a whole slew of new problems?

Money isn’t the answer to happiness.  Neither is a flatter tummy, a bigger house, a new job, better behaved children or exotic travels.  Don’t get me wrong: all of those things are great!  But if we don’t work out how to be happy right now – nothing external will ever fix what’s missing on the inside.

At the risk of sounding like Yoda, happiness isn’t the peak of a mountain: in every moment of the climb, it is.  If we truly believe that another baby or a million bucks or being a size 10 will make us happy, we’ll waste years of our life chasing goal posts.  Happiness is a choice and a journey.  We may experience unhappy moments (being left at the altar, doing time in a French prison) but it’s how we choose to react to the moments that define our happiness throughout life.

“Stop your rambling!  Tell me the secret of being happy!” I hear someone scream.  Sadly, I’m not a happiness expert or an academic or a spiritual guru.  Although I have been told that I look like the guy in this photo before… 

I can pass on a practice which has helped me reach a happier place:  A friend of mine gave me a “happiness” log sheet.  Every day for a month, you write down three things you’re grateful for, genuinely thank somebody for something in writing and spend five minutes relaxing or meditating.  For all of the women out there who are tired of chasing the happy, I’d love to encourage this practice as a way of allow the happy to find you.

Incidentally, my written thank you today is to you, for reading.  If I’ve said anything which made you smile, nod sagely in recognition or snort in disagreement, I’d welcome hearing about it - please leave a message below.