I have wanted to try Soul Cycle for months. The branding intrigues me and I hear raves from people who have tried the class.

Last week I signed up for a class at the new Soul Cycle in The Castro. I am not in great shape and I felt out of my comfort zone, surrounded by what I could swear are teenage kids and very fit 30 something’s. I ignored my fears and wedged my way into the tiny, dark room to bike number 44.

Immediately I understood a few differences. The bikes are crammed together, mere inches from each other. There are candles at the base of the instructor’s bike, which is raised on a platform facing the crowd. The music is loud, which explained the jar of earplugs available at the front desk. The teacher bounces up and down as though on a pogo stick, and there is very little attention to form.

But, there is something about the class. It’s not only the party like/dance club atmosphere. Or the black lights they turn on at key moments. There is an addicting component. While you are sweating, getting your ass kicked, the instructor is calling out more than instructions; they are calling out mental and emotional challenges. “THE WAY YOU DO ANYTHING IS THE WAY YOU DO EVERYTHING.” They are speaking positive words of encouragement; “YOU’VE GOT THIS! CHANGE IS UNCOMFORTABLE, CHANGE IS GOOD.”

I have a lot of voices in my head, many of them nervous or negative. Over the last few days, I’ve noticed myself having more positive thoughts. I attribute this to the massive endorphin rush of good exercise. But I also think that hearing all that encouragement, and being in a room with all that positive energy, gets to you at some level. It may even sink deeper because you are absorbing it while getting your ass kicked.

I have been married over five years now to an amazing and fairly particular man. It’s pretty much a miracle that we got married in the first place, since we are the Grand Tetons of stubbornness. We both have a “few” issues with control (note sarcasm), and we have incredibly different personalities. I had to pry my way into his life through uncomfortable tactics like changing up the way he loaded the dishwasher, and rebelling against his strong belief in “standard towel folding practice.” He proved himself to be the most tenacious man I know by holding steady in his pursuit of me through what he calls “The Grover”; Near…Far…Near…Far.

Marriage is a particularly fascinating dance. One of the best truths I’ve ever heard spoken about what makes for a good marriage comes from an older couple from New Hampshire. A craggy pair of old school Italians with a great sense of humor, when asked what they think the secret to a happy marriage is the wife answered, “It’s simple, you can’t both want a divorce at the same time. Because honey, you will want a divorce, trust me, but as long as you don’t both want it at the same time things are fine.” The husband nodded, “Yep, she’s right. You can’t both want a divorce at the same time. That’s the secret.”

As I type, my husband asked me to pass him a tissue. In the early days I’d give him the whole box and he would get frustrated. “I just need one,” he’d say. Really? How could you only need one tissue and why is a box not more thoughtful? Tonight, slightly older and wiser to the ways of being a wife, I hand him a single tissue and he is happy.

 

First of all, there’s a hole in the crotch. That seemed odd. Then it is flesh colored, I don’t even know where to begin with my thoughts on flesh colored undergarments. Let’s just say I don’t feel my sexiest while wearing them.

I don’t usually sweat in a lingerie dressing room. Yesterday I did. I swore I would never wear Spanx or any type of compression device. In the past, it seemed like donning something meant to suck me in meant I was failing at staying in shape. It was a mental hurdle for me that up until yesterday I was able to avoid.

But there I was, in the quiet dressing room with horrible fluorescent lighting and bad elevator music, sweating and tugging to get myself into this odd contraption so I could “smooth out” a few spots under my new black dress.

Tomorrow night, when I’m letting lose and having some fun, I’ll feel good in my black dress and my new found affinity for Spanx and flesh colored lingerie.