Hills of Enya

This morning I had the time and ambition to go to not only the 8 am but also the 9 am spin class today. At the break between the two classes, I contemplated staying until the instructor for the second class cruised in and flipped on her music.


At my gym, there are two styles of spinning classes. Half of the instructors play upbeat music, have routines that are fresh with every new song, and impart motivational orders such as “run!” “push it!” and “suck it up and go harder!” in a tone that is loud and startling enough to encourage you to push it to the next level. You leave the class sweaty, exhausted and exhilarated. The 8 am class was this style.

The other half like long, rambling, watery songs. They invite you to spend the next eternity mindlessly climbing up an imaginary hill while listening to the gentle strains of music that is usually only found at street fairs. They look you right in the eye and say softly “There are 2 people inside of you. Who you are now, and a better version of yourself to which you can aspire. Aspire. Aspire!” Somewhere, there is a Successory poster with this same saying.

I love the first style class–the music, the routines, the yelled motivation, and the instructors who are more like fitness/aerobic instructors. I appreciate that the second style class is typically taught by road bicycling enthusiast who are way more hard-core than I could ever dream of being, and I know that a good, kind heart is behind every uplifting, softly spoken word of encouragement, but really. Enya?

I happily gave up my bike for the second class (although, really, the class was only half full and there were bikes aplenty. I imagine that a whole slew of people came in after I left and filled the class up.)

I like my workouts angry.

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