In January 2009, I weighed 230lbs, wore a size 40 waist, and felt completely out of shape. I’d been on the diet roller coaster for a while, filled with its own unique blend of highs and lows: I’d start by going to the gym and eating healthfully, and then I’d get out of the groove and “forget” to work out. Take that cycle and repeat it a bunch of times, and you’ll understand what my life was like for a long time. Not good.
The actual task of working out was never a problem for me, though. I’ve used a personal trainer many times in the past and was fully versed in the “ways of the gym” (sounds all spiritual, but eh, not so much). If I felt heavy, I’d string a few weeks at the gym together and drop 10 pounds. Still, there wasn’t anything guiding my workouts or serving as a foundation for motivation. All I was doing was reacting to weight gain and putting a temporary fix on the situation.
During the fall of 2008, the same approach of reacting pervaded my work, too. I’d sit at the computer responding to every email as it came in, chasing every issue that needed attention in nanoseconds of it rearing its head, without waiting to see if it fixed itself. I guess I was like so many out there, doing what I liked to do, but not loving it. I wasn’t taking control of the situation at hand. Business in retail after October 2008 had started to fall apart, just like every other part of the economy, so I thought it was even more reasonable to stick by the phones and handle crap as it came in. I was once again reacting to everything instead of making things happen.
During all of this, I continued to go to the gym. One day, a trainer invited me to try a 6 am “spinning” or cycling class on a Monday morning. The following week, as I drove in the dark to the class, I truly thought I’d lost my mind. I wasn’t sure what to expect. As an entrepreneur, you often take risks that feel like a shot in the dark, you drive towards darkness in the figurative sense a lot of the time—so how was this any different? Well, for starters, it wasn’t totally about business this time—it was about me.
I walked into the room where the spinning class was going to take place. Bikes were lined up with towels hanging over the bars and I ambled over to one and set myself up on it as best as I could, without asking for help. I got a weird look from a very cute girl who got on the bike next to me, and was sure that this was going to be a long class. Later I realized that everyone set up their own bikes and towels before class and I’d taken the bike reserved for her boyfriend or husband. I’d already broken the rules!
Class started and I pedaled. And I pedaled some more. I felt my throat get dry, my lungs get heavy, and my brain went into survival mode. Brief questions crossed my mind as I battled every imaginary hill, and they went something like this: Why don’t I have any water? Why are all these people so much more fit than I am? Why am I the only one not pedaling right now? Even though I had all these questions, my brain was focused on the task at hand. All of the other mental clutter floated away. All I could do was pedal.
I made it through my first spinning class. Despite the fact that afterwards I found myself on the couch in my office wondering if I was going to die from exhaustion, I felt good. My head was clear. And I couldn’t wait to try it again.
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