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Throwing in the towel on my old habits
Pulling at my crop top, I glance down to make sure everything is still in place. I bring one finger to my face and rest it beneath my lower eyelashes. In a sweeping motion, I pull my hand away from my face, and check it for evidence of melting makeup. I can barely see my hand in front of my face in the dark room. The wall next to me is visibly wet. I see sweat dripping off the guy next to me. Everyone around me has glazed eyes that slowly drift closed and open suddenly. I like loud music, but the guitar floating through the air is verging on piercing. Every thought in my head feels scrambled. We are all fixated on the man on the riser at the front of the room. He moves his hand slightly, prompting the lights to go down and we hear a build in the music. The pulsating EDM is building to a crescendo and when it finally drops, so does everyone in the room. People hoot and holler. They all lean back and forward on the beat. Towels are waved in the air.
But this isn’t a rave, or a club: it’s indoor cycling. Some people call it SoulCycle. Others call it a cult. I call it spin.
I’ve written the same intro paragraph a million times. I’ve spent three years at music festivals, rock concerts, punk shows, and warehouse EDM raves for the purpose of music journalism. My love for music and partying go hand in hand. I am drawn to an atmosphere that is outgoing and social. I crave loud music and moving bodies; but this environment has not been the most conducive to my health.
I thought that it was worth it. I knew theoretically that not sleeping and partying would have an impact on my overall health, but that impact is hard to see. I thought that the effects of not sleeping would be feeling tired. I didn’t realize it would make me agitated and depressed. I didn’t realize that subsisting off coffee and ten dollar pitchers would cause my mental health to spiral into shambles. I didn’t think that the thing I loved was causing me to live a life that I hated.
I moved to Toronto when I was nineteen. My parents said to me: if we pay for your schooling, all you’ll do is party. They decided that if I had to work then I would learn to value my education—or at least I would be too busy or broke to go out. Instead, I saw it as a challenge. I wanted to go to school, work, and go out. I was going to do it all—so began the whirlwind cycle that would shape my four years of undergraduate studies.
I would wake up before the sun and head to work. There, I could study and get paid. I would fulfill my study and work commitments before most of my friends had woken up. I would then head to class or to an interview with a musician. After class, I would head back to work or to meet up with friends. I would then head to whatever event I was writing about or whatever club had piqued my interest. I would get home and crash for a few hours and then wake up again. For a brief period, I almost felt like I was living my “best life” in the city.
Except I felt trapped and unhappy. Every time I felt like this, I would text my friends and we would go out dancing. We would drink in excess, dance, and hit on guys. Then I would wake up, drink more coffee, and do it again. I love clubs. I love dancing. I love loud music. I crave this environment. Yet these environments were also where I would have horrendous meltdowns.
After a particularly bad night, I spent a couple months in bed crying. I didn’t know who I was. I didn’t know why I had done many of the things I had done in the past few years. It all came crashing down and I realized that by not practising self-care, I had created a version of myself who was incapable of caring for others. Using every bit of energy I had to keep myself together meant that I wasn’t putting energy into my relationships.
I called my mom and we started on a two-year journey to find a solution. I realized that just because there are 24 hours in a day, it doesn’t mean you need to work all of them. I realized that toxic environments can lead to toxic actions and mentalities. I realized I needed to start taking better care of those around me. I realized that I needed to start taking better care of myself.
When I first met with a psychiatrist, he suggested that I start working out. He explained that reconnecting with my body and giving myself a physical output would really help me deal with all of the emotions going on in my brain. So this fall, I started running. I also made a friend who was happy to try workout classes with me. One day, we worked up the courage to try an intro-level spin class at Quad on King West.
In one of my chaotic summers, I had worked briefly at the gym above Quad. I had seen very fit people walking out of the studio absolutely drenched in sweat. I had heard the music pulsating through the windows as I walked on the street. I was terrified. I thought that there was a legitimate chance that I would puke on the bike. I thought it was just a class where you sit on a bike and someone yells at you and you peddle as fast as you can.
It’s not. Spin is considered a group activity where you are supposed to move as a unit. There are three positions that you shift from: sitting (first position), to standing straight up (second position), and a position where you push your hips back over the saddle, hover above it, and lean forward (third position). There are a million things to think of when you spin: Are my shoulders pushed down my back? Are my elbows in? Can I wiggle my fingers? Am I holding my abs tight? Is my chin up and are my eyes facing front?
While your mind is cycling through these thoughts, music is pounding in your head and the instructor is telling you to turn up your resistance every few minutes. You don’t have time to wipe away the sweat dripping into your eye, let alone to fully process how hard of a workout it is. Then it’s done. Frank Ocean comes over the speakers. The instructor smiles. You are filled with endorphins. Needless to say, I fell in love.
As I continued going to Quad, I began to feel more confident in my spinning abilities. I had heard that certain spin studios (like SoulCycle), had cult-like followings. I had seen the branded clothing. I had heard about the instructors and the candles and how swanky it was. My friend and I tried SoulCycle in Yorkville and Ride Cycle Club on Ossington. Both companies take the average spin class like those offered at Quad and make it an experience. This is where the riding in the pitch black and weird candles come into play. I ended up falling in love with Ride Cycle Club because it provided me with the social and physical output that I craved without destroying my physical and mental health.
Spin didn’t solve my problems, nor did it instantly improve my well-being. I am not part of some weird cult, and all my underlying mental health issues didn’t completely go away. Rather, spin gave me an outlet. It gave me a place where I know I can make myself happy. I can connect with my body, I can work out aggression and work through emotions, I can listen to loud music and sing along, I can swear, and I can scream.
I don’t like going out anymore. I don’t like hangovers. I don’t like drunk texts. I don’t like feeling exhausted. I really don’t like waking up to see that I picked up McDonald’s or Pizza Pizza on my way home from the club. I still like dark rooms and loud music. I like putting on clothes that make me feel good. I like meeting up with some friends after a long week. I think what I like most though is that spin makes me happy—genuinely happy.
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