The earth sometimes pulls you back down to terra firma. Taking my third-time-ever spin class this week did so to me. I’ve found, for the most part, I dislike group exercise. In fact, I’ve decided going solo is a comforting although often lonesome endeavor.
Being the oldest and probably physically weakest person on a stationary bike in that class felt humiliating. The odd-woman out, which I feel on a day-to-day basis at work enough as it is. Yes — I project this title onto myself — but need to own that feeling to process and get past it.
Maybe I’m meant to be on an outdoor trail instead, regardless of the falling temperatures in the Midwest. It’s important to be receptive to change, as it’s the only constant in life. Period.
A temperate day brought me there yesterday, to a wonderfully maintained trail near our suburban neighborhood, albeit with a wipeout on the fallen leaves from over-confidence in my downhill speed. The universe reminded me of my limitations once again when I drifted sideways and landed squarely on my shoulder and hip. More importantly, though, I got back up and continued.
Doing so brought me to a beautiful creek where I got to sit and listen to gravity take the stream down to the lake and renew my mind, if only for the moment. Much like in life, the coast comes with the climb, and the spin accompanies the grind. But I can do that. I can stand up on my pedals to get up the hills even if I’m not feeling that stand in a spin class.
I try to remind myself how the sun will always eventually break through the clouds even if the momentary voices in my head are the most formidable force I face. It’s always darkest before the dawn, as the tired saying goes.
So my search for a way to feel grateful continues. Each moment of positivity in getting there is a tiny piece of grace I welcome.