The bicycle of life

Tuesdays and Thursdays at 8 a.m. I go to my spinning class. The trainer, who exudes an infectious energy, helps me adjust the height of the bike, while the rhythmic clatter of the music begins to bounce off the walls. And there we are, a group of cyclists who for the next hour will pedal with the intensity of someone fleeing a storm or running towards an unreachable goal. She, at the center of it all, like a spiritual guide, sets the pace, throws motivational phrases, and turns this class into a perfect allegory of life.

At the beginning, everything seems simple. The pedaling is light, the legs respond easily, and a sense of control enraptures me. Everything moves smoothly, without too many obstacles, and the horizon appears vast and full of promise.

But it's not long before the instructor - like life itself - demands more from me. “Turne up the resistance,” she shouts from the front, as I turn the knob on my bike. The ride begins to lean, my legs start to feel heavy, my heart beats harder, and what was once a leisurely ride now becomes a challenge.

At one point, as the bike's resistance rises, I began to think that this moment is a fleeting allegory of the moments of greatest adversity. It's when life's difficulties loomed heavy: a loss, a project that ended badly, a disappointment. Somehow, the road ceased to be easy. Each pedal stroke becomes a conscious effort, an internal battle between wanting to keep going or giving up. “Don't stop!” she shouts, bursting with energy and strength. And although a part of me would like to slow down, get out of the class and rest, something deeper, a spark of perseverance makes me keep pedaling. Just like when, despite making a mistake or experiencing frustration, I decided to try again.

It is in those moments that I discover what I am made of. Life - the bike - tests me, challenges me, and forces me to draw strength I didn't even know I had. My legs burn, sweat runs down my forehead, but I keep going. Deep down I know that, as in life, every climb has its descent and its respite.

After minutes that feel like hours, relief arrives. The instructor smiles and slows the pace, the resistance lessens, and the pedaling becomes fluid again. The music changes to a softer rhythm, and the imaginary wind of speed refreshes my face. Such are the moments of victory in life: brief instants where I feel it's all worth it.

It is on those descents that I reflected on the road traveled. Each difficulty faced has made me stronger. Each turn of the pedal has brought me closer to my best version.

In spinning, as in life, there are moments that require us to give our all. The final sprint is that last stretch in which she shouts: “Faster, harder, don't give up now”! And although my legs don't seem to respond, I find a last reserve of energy, an unexpected strength that only comes when I have nothing left.

Such is the end of any great challenge in life. When it seems I can't go on any longer, I find within myself the capacity to overcome. In those final sprints I can see how far I've come from where I've been pedaling.

After the effort, the cooling down comes. The pedaling becomes soft, almost symbolic, and the music envelops me in a sense of accomplishment. The instructor congratulates us. I feel happy. The endorphins do their job, and it was all worth it.

Coming out of spin class is coming back to real life with a new perspective. The lessons learned with each turn of the pedal stay with me. In the end, life is nothing more than one long spinning class: sometimes uphill, sometimes downwind, but always moving forward, always pedaling.

By Mercedes Lagos Coach. Coaching Conversations and Mentoring. Mindfulness Facilitator & passionate writer.