feet on solid ground. sort of.

I've started this blog post several times. It's actually really difficult for me to write about running, that I can't do it anymore, that I sort of have to let go of something that for roughly a decade was one of the most reliable things in my life. Running gave me purpose. Running challenged me. Running kept me in shape and enabled me to eat like a total pig. (Seriously - my friend has a phrase I really love: "Run to eat, eat to run," one of the greatest truths I've ever known.) Running was an hour of time with myself, an hour to organize my thoughts. Running got me through both heartache and happiness. In a strange way, running is one of my best friends.

I could honestly write an essay on running (oh wait, isn't that what this is?), and for those of you who consider yourselves runners or have found the love of running at one point or another in your life, you will understand that it literally does something to your pride to turn your back on it.

However, I've come to the conclusion that for now, running and I have to take a break. (It's not you, it's me.) Pregnancy took two feet that were already on the brink of the end of their running career, and pretty much turned them to mush. Running hurts now. And running could potentially cause serious damage.

Oh my heart.

So I tried something new. Spinning. The sport I semi-mocked as the people with tight shirts and shorts whizzed by me during my runs. The sport that is essentially the opposite of "my" sport. No more moving forward on my own two feet. No more solid ground under every step. I'd be in a whole new world, a room in fact. With bikes and the rapid whirring of legs.

The entire day before my spinning class, I was nervous. I love running because it doesn't require many skills beyond those of putting one foot in front of the other and switching your brain to a mode where pain and time don't register. It's hard to fail at running. But spinning? Bikes require skills way beyond just footfalls.

I sat in the parking lot of the gym and almost drove home. I sent a text to Jess that said: "I'm way nervous." He sent one back: "You shouldn't be. Just remember, love the bike. Love the bike." (He's a cyclist.)

So I went in and put my name down on the beginner's course, a 25 minute introduction to spinning.

As we started the endless leg revolutions, I suddenly found myself lost in the repetition. After all, isn't running just repetition of a different sort? My legs were burning. I was sweating (something I loathe unless I'm working out). And I left halfway through the next class.

I loved it. The part of me that found deep satisfaction in sweating it out on a treadmill found it again. Just on a bike. It was challenging. It was hard. It was fun. And if I'm being perfectly honest, sixty minutes on a bike seemed like a breeze compared to the same amount of time on a treadmill.

I do miss running (terribly), and I refuse to believe I'll never do it again. But for now, I'll take the room stuffed with bikes and loud, blaring music. Because in the revolutions of the bike, my feet are still falling. And they feel right at home.

NOTE: I will say that it depends on the instructor. I had one who kept yelling at the class (all four of us, it was a small class, and I'm pretty sure it had everything to do with her): "Right here, right now!" or "Come on ATHLETES!" I was like, um. No. But if you find the right instructor(s), it's a perfectly wonderful way to get some cardio in.