Taking a spin at runner’s high

I always wanted to be a runner -- someone who could blaze across the finish line of a 10K, eyes closed, head raised in a satisfied smile. The exercise is so hard, so demanding, that I always believed that excelling at it made someone tough. It made them an athlete.

In high school and college, I could wing a softball windmill-style with the best of them, but I was always dead last in team runs.

After college, I turned to walking, the elliptical trainer, yoga -- but my yearning for running continued. Not for the exercise itself, but for something physical that would push my limits and give me that euphoric high that runners talk about -- minus the shin splints.

One day at the gym, while I was plodding along on the elliptical trainer, staring at the back of a woman sailing through her fifth mile on the treadmill, I noticed a spinning class letting out. The women were red-faced and glowing with a post-run kind of euphoria. They were exhausted, in a good way.

I signed my name to the clipboard for the next week’s class.

I showed up to that first session early and headed to a bike in the back corner. The instructor walked over to adjust my bike: “Go slowly today -- don’t overdo it,” she said, patting me on the hand. Hmm, I thought, slow is something I have down pat.

The music kicked in, and we started pedaling. By 20 minutes in, my lungs were screaming, my butt was aching, and the overheated room had me sweating -- but I was hooked. I loved that even though I was struggling more than anyone in the class, I wasn’t coming in last. It was a race with myself. My challenge was my own: to make it through 60 minutes without throwing up my hands in surrender.

After a few months of class, one of my fellow spinners tapped me on the arm as we headed to the locker room. “A few of us go to class in the mornings on Tuesdays and Thursdays, 7 o’clock,” she said. “The instructor is tough, but I think you’d like it.”

Anne Marie, as promised, was tough. She pushed me harder than I’d ever been pushed -- but my body responded. More often than not, I could make it over the tough hills and was hanging in even when those beside me were dropping off and retiring to the saddle. My pride soared.

One Thursday morning, when my legs felt stronger than ever, Anne Marie led us up the toughest incline yet.

As I drove harder, I suddenly felt like I was floating, like I could have gone on like that for hours. I later realized I’d finally achieved that runner’s high.

And when Anne Marie called out, in her throaty voice, “Come on, show me what you’re made of!” I did. And I wasn’t coming in last, noisily plodding flat-footed over a finish line. My eyes were closed, my head raised in a satisfied smile. I was an athlete.

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christyrippel.com

My Turn is a forum for readers to recount an experience or air an opinion related to health or fitness. Submissions are subject to editing and condensation and become the property of The Times.

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