My friend invited me to go with her…
“First time?” She asked.
“Yes…” I replied.
That’s when she raised her eyebrows and gave me an ominous look that said sarcastically, “good luck.”
Just getting on the bike itself seemed to require a good twenty minutes of awkward preparation. It needed to be adjusted to my height, then the special shoes needed to be clipped in, then someone had to go through all the commands – hands at two meant here, hands at three meant there, etc, etc.
All while attractive twenty and thirty somethings seamlessly did this around me in 30 seconds.
When everyone was on their bikes, the music started and the instructor turned out the lights. I sat on the bike and peddled like mad, happy that the room was dark so no one could see my flailing.
After a few minutes in the dark the instructor turned the lights to a low dim and I could see that everyone around me was actually up (as in off their seats) on their bikes.
“Are we up the whole time?” I hissed to my friend.
“Pretty much,” she mouthed back.
I had been up on my bike for a total of four minutes and my legs left like fire. I honestly had no idea how I would be able to do it for another forty one minutes.
Meanwhile the twenty something next to me seemed to be having a spiritual moment as the music blasted and the lights went on and off and the instructor yelled at us to “get it together” and “find it on the right,” whatever that meant.
I did manage to get through the entire forty five minutes, barely. By the end I was a sweaty mess.
Back home, my husband paused as I walked in the door. Seeing my clothes soaked through with sweat and my face still beat red even though I had been finished with my class for a half hour, he asked me:
“How did it go? Did you throw up?”
“How did it go?” I repeated his question, irritated.
“Did I throw up?” I asked, “Babe. I am forty four years old. I’m lucky I got out of there without shitting myself.”
Later that day I called the studio to purchase a ten pass.
“I’m so happy you enjoyed the class,” the spunky young receptionist chirped back.
“Oh no, I definitely did not enjoy the class,” I clarified.
“Oh,” she responded, confused.
“But I’ve never sweat so much in one forty five minute period so I figure it must be a good workout.”
“Ah,” she laughed. “Well I’m happy tp hear you are going to stick with it.”
Fast forward six months.
I’ve been sticking with it!
I stick with it about three times a week.
Nowadays I can totally hang with the twenty and thirty somethings in the front row. I know how to adjust my bike and I can “find it on the right, or the left,” no problem.
I can sprint standing up on my bike to the super fast beat like a true bad ass.
I’ve even had a spiritual moment, or two.
The point of all this my friend?
I guess it would be this:
Sometimes we have to do really hard things to know what we are truly capable of.
It might not be a BurnCycle class (God help you). It might be a difficult conversation you need to have. Or it might be something in your business, a sales conversation or a webinar or a class you need to teach. It might be that Shawn Mendes concert you son has been begging you to take him to. Or a similarly terrifying task you know you need to face.
Stick with it.
Because underneath it ALL …
Whether you know it now or not…
You really are a BAD ASS.
But you’ll never get it unless you let yourself break a sweat.