What do you do when you’re at a crossroads in life; when there are three pathways forking out in front of you and you’re really at a loss which one you ought to take? Should you choose with your heart, your mind, or the in-between compromise?
Well, here’s what I do: I spin. Not manipulation-of-opinion spinning, but cycling-spinning – the kind which takes place on a bicycle screwed to the ground. At the gym.
I admit to a major U-turn. I am the official anti-gym campaigner, whose idea of healthy exercise is a walk to the pub and back. Why, up to a while ago, even the very thought of that closed, confined space cluttered with machines and grunting people made me feel instantly exhausted.
Now here I am, pedalling for my cardiovascular life, with some 30 other gym geeks, all of us perspiring profusely as we perch on cycles nailed to the floor. Sweaty eyes are fixed on the whacky instructor, who’s whooping and screaming and sticking his Lycra-clad bottom in the air to David Guetta’s latest,at maximum decibels. Why on earth am I doing this to myself?
When I first heard of spinning – years ago – from my sister, who must be one of its earliest devotees, I was aghast: “Forgetaboutit,” I said when she went a roll, pontificating every inch of her spinning bike. “No change of scenery? No fresh air? Jesus, you’re like hamsters.”
“Oh, but it’s a laugh, it’s a mood booster and, best of all,” she paused for maximum effect: “it’s a great way to burn calories.”
Now, burning 800 calories a session does not exactly sell it to me. Remember, I aspire for a Beyoncé bottom. So I said: “Pah. If I want to cycle, I’ll do it outdoors, thanks very much.”
Which, of course, is not true. My bike has been gathering dust in the shed for the past four years, since the day I bravely ventured out to Valletta, and by the time I reached Marsa I felt pretty much like the villain in a video game. That was the day when exercise and I parted ways.
Until, that is, a couple of months ago, when, in a house-cleaning fit, I came across a couple of 5kg dumbbells. Which I couldn’t lift. My daughter, hovering nearby, was eyeing me closely: “Granny can do that,” she said.
And that was that. I wanted my muscles toned, pronto. Short of enrolling on a boxing class, I decided to give spinning a try. (I discovered later, that my daughter had been referring to ‘Granny’ from the Looney Tunes cartoon.)
I confided in a girlfriend, who raised one approving eyebrow: “You? The gym? Good for you, there should be some cute lads there.”
Erm, no, sorry. I don’t happen to be attracted to men in tight shirts looking like inverted pumped-up triangles. (Gentlemen, no need to write in, all offended-like. No, you don’t all look like that – it’s probably just the gym I go to). This is all about being fit, I’ll have eyes for no other than my toned muscles, I replied. And boy, was I right.
The minute I gave it a go I was left gasping: goodbye hamster, hello hamstrings. It’s the kind of adrenaline rush you’d get if you were a star-studded cowboy in a western movie. Yee-har! You’re on a walloping gallop and nothing will ever stop you.
No wonder then, that in Copenhagen, energy produced by pedalling spinners is being used to generate electricity.
In fact, herein lies a solution to Malta’s faltering energy supplies: the government must start a campaign to get everyone pedalling furiously. Not only would we cure our gross obesity problem but we’d also have the peace of mind that, whenever the lights go out, bike power would keep our coastline twinkling.
While the government comes round to this idea, we should all start training. If nothing, the pounding music and the pulsating, energetic pedalling keep all sorts of negative thoughts at bay.
By the end of a spinning session, life no longer seems to be in different shades of grey. Rather, everything is distinct, in clear-cut black and white. The sign posting is suddenly visible and as you struggle painfully to cycle uphill, you know which of the three pathways forking out in front of you will eventually lead to a smooth un-potholed road.
In conclusion, dear reader, I still have found no cure for heartache and such like, but at least I can now handle soreness in a delightful manner.
If you’re afflicted by a wounded heart or if your soul’s lost its direction, please do join me for the 6 p.m. spinning class next Tuesday. It will be a blast.