As a human being and spin instructor, I am very much in tune with the energy of others — how people respond and react to events and occurrences in their daily lives, and how people share it with the world. It’s a huge part of what I talk about in the classes I teach: how do we digest information that is constantly being thrown at us, and spin it in a way that works for us? How do we soak things in, and use them in a way that makes sense for us, then help make sense of the bigger picture? It always starts with one step, one pedal stroke, one breath. All it takes is one heartbeat, and the rest follows. 

At the start of the pandemic, I told myself “just a few weeks of this, and then we’ll go back to some version of normal that I can recognize.” There was a lot that I’d been working through, after a particularly scary health diagnosis, multiple surgeries, and months of rest that stripped away a huge chunk of me. I had returned to teaching just one week before quarantine started; not a heck of a lot of time to feel like you’re finally putting the pieces of yourself back together again.

Unwilling to hit pause on the comeback journey I was so desperately clawing toward, for both for my body and my mind, I jumped into teaching virtual cardio dance classes that made people smile while we worked our tails off. We were living our favorite girl band back up dancer truths. I was so far outside my comfort zone, but those classes were very much a way for me to find purpose in a time that felt, and still does, feel very much like a black hole. It gave me a reason to put together movement and music, one of my favorite ways to sort through so much of what has happened to me in my life. 

But the pandemic wore on, and I quickly wore out. The energy and joy I was so used to from exercise (hello, endorphins) started to slip.  There really is no substitute for an in-person exchange of the electricity you can create when you look up and see a whole room of people moving to the beat of the music. Why? Because even though we’re all listening to the same song, everyone moves in their own way, in the way that makes sense for them based on the information they are taking in. MY walk will never look like someone else’s, and neither will my sprint or my climb, or the way I twirl when I’m dancing around my living room. And try as I might, there was something significant missing from the experience once the technological aspect of a screen put so much distance between the people I was so used to connecting with when they were only a few feet away. And that realization that the opportunities we were sharing together would never be the same crushed me. Suddenly the classes that I started out of necessity to hold onto any shred of normal turned into an experience that I resented for doing the exact opposite. With the end of each class came this overwhelming dread that we were sinking farther and farther into this so NOT normal space together.

One of the biggest reasons I ride and love to teach spin is for the community it's allowed me to create. You start out not knowing the person next to you at all, then 45 minutes later, you're slamming on their handlebars in celebration. It’s a gift to see someone take your class for the first time who starts off shy and winds up hooting and hollering whether they nailed the workout or not. No one’s afraid to spill their guts, no one’s holding back — it's a beautiful explosion of self-expression that I am lucky to facilitate. That energy, those interactions, those moments — they seemed irreplaceable. No amount of virtual classes or hang outs can substitute how it feels to share energy and electricity with someone in real life. Period. And even though we were all smiling and sweating together and moving, I craved that connection that I was so used to getting. I missed the souls in the room, and the reason behind the movement, not just the movement itself. 

I voluntarily took a few weeks off from teaching, for maybe the first time in my life, to take a crack at digesting. I’ve always been a firm believer of not being able to pour from an empty cup. With our country and the world suffering on so many levels, the chances of my cup ever having a drop in it again were looking slim. Admitting that I wasn’t motivated to power through for others gave me an opportunity to reflect. I’ve always found that when I’m stuck, moving is the last thing I want to do, but always the thing that helps with the process of becoming unstuck. Moving to move forward. Moving with a purpose.

Getting back to movement is never easy — but especially this time, when the whole world seemed to just shut down and stop turning, wasn’t the easiest process. I’ll admit that I tried everything to find inspiration and motivation again — taking fitness classes from people I admire was both helpful and hurtful, like a one step forward, two step back sort of pattern. I had a weird reaction where I was either incredibly grateful for the experience, or jealous that I couldn’t craft those feelings for myself, even when I was doing the things I loved. Frustrated and at my wits end, I ended up starting to journal, which I thought would never work for me. But I found a connection in the ability to release my mind that directly related to my willingness to release my body. Journaling started to give me the permission I needed to move for myself, and I’m realizing now that sometimes these internal releases, even if it's just pen to paper, are so much more necessary and powerful in jumpstarting the external releases when you feel like you’re out of options.

Feeling alone and isolated on top of not feeling like myself already was truly daunting. Quarantine held so many ups and downs, both personally and professionally, that it’s almost hard to give myself credit for the amount of growth that occurred, too. 

I discovered there’s an enormous difference between being alone, and being lonely. It’s easy to confuse the two. But just because you’re alone in a space doesn’t mean that a heart’s not beating for you somewhere, or that you don’t occupy someone’s headspace at any given moment. And vice versa. Just because the room is full of people doesn’t mean it’s always going to be full of passion, or fire, or fight. That has to come from the inside. 

I used to rely on the motivation and energy of others to want to show up. But now I can say that I’m giving myself the permission to do exactly what I usually ask of others — dig deeper, and go farther. Don’t get me wrong, the energy of others DEFINITELY makes the experience a million times more special than words can ever describe. I just don’t think it will hold as much power in the equation as it once did. I’m diving into the notion that I can move FOR MYSELF with others present, not for others because they’re there. We’ll see where that takes me, and see if starts to feel “normal.”

Taking the pressure off myself to help other people, even though my ability and desire to be able to do that is something that gives my life purpose, made me realize that there has to be more balance in my “whys” and my reasons for moving. It’s no longer just about other people; I’m inviting myself into the mix as well. Leading and creating for others, to make them feel good about themselves and what they accomplish, without sacrificing myself in the process. I’m learning to be way more intentional with the time I spend moving my body for me, and I’ve found that even if I am dancing or riding, it’s become a much more meditative experience than it used to be. Empty room, or full. 

Quarantine has given me the opportunity to learn from myself in ways that I never could when I was going 100 miles a minute. Barreling through life and moving through life are two different ideas, and that’s a new concept for me. I’m recognizing that moments of stillness lead to more meaningful moments of movement. The disruption in my routine was enough to make me uncomfortable, but not enough to debilitate me. It’s hard to be apart from the people I love the most in this world. I feed off their energy to fill my soul. But that absence has also given me the unique opportunity to pay an incredible amount of attention to myself, and see how I can fill holes myself that I used to use others to fill. All it takes is one heartbeat, and the rest follows.