If this time last year you had told me that an exercise bike would be my salvation, I’d have insisted your crystal ball was broken. I’d have protested that I’m not an athlete by any stretch, not even in my imagination. My co-ordination is lacking, my endurance is spotty and my speed is set squarely on tortoise.
In high school, being unsuited for a single team felt a bit like wearing a scarlet letter in lieu of a varsity jacket. I envied the honour roll kids who climbed academic mountains in their spare time, preserving their real energy for the basketball court, soccer field or dance studio. I was bookish and slow, and that self-image – of being a body better suited to quiet reading and leisurely walks – remained with me for my entire life.
The only thing I had in common with millions of displaced gym-goers was a mad scramble for workout gear. As I turned my attention to home exercise equipment, part of me knew there was a possibility that whatever item I chose could readily end up as an expensive clothes horse. But if I didn’t giddy-up and get something, my frustrations were likely to outpace my capacity to wrangle them.
More than anything, it’s about nourishing your mind. It’s the feeling of accomplishment when you finish something hard. It’s the commitment that comes from sticking with something that requires you to step out of your comfort zone. It’s knowing that there are other people out there, with similar struggles, who are getting on that bike and pushing through.