In Reflection
As soon as my eyes open I start listing reasons to stay here under my blanket, blinds shut, all day. Right now, there is only one place in the world that could pull me out of bed: Full Ride. So I exchange sheets for leggings, bedhead for a pony, isolation for community, fear for hope.
At check in, the FRC crew tells me that I’m on bike 18. Front row. In the middle of the pack. I wish the version of me that booked this class at 5pm on Sunday night would’ve gotten the heads-up that I’d wake up feeling so heavy. This weight doesn’t necessarily feel light enough to rise up out of the saddle. Are there any other bikes open? No, it’s a full class. I glance at the studio’s front doors, then back at Ashley behind the desk. Her loving smile and gentle eyes tell me to stay. They say, “don’t let the things that happen to you beyond these walls hinder the things that can happen for you here.”
I set up my bike, measuring the seat at my hip, the handlebars aligned with that, and the distance between them the length of my elbow plus a fist. Clipping in, I keep my gaze low. Eye contact could mean “how are you?” and that would most certainly mean tears. Yet, the person I want to avoid locking eyes with most is myself. With the way I feel today, with everything that has changed, I don’t even know if I would recognize the person in the mirror.
Before long, the first song begins and our instructor invites us to find the beat. Whether it is the dimly lit room or the community’s cheers, something convinces me to finally lift my eyes. To my surprise, I don’t encounter the eye contact I was so afraid of. A black wall stares back at me instead. Directly in front of my bike, the mirror cuts out and a plastered column stands in its place. It’s disorienting, daunting even, to feel my legs peddling, my hands wrapped around the handlebars, my shoulders pressing down, but to not see any of these things. In fact, I don’t see any part of myself, just a dark beam reminding me just how unsightly all that isn’t there can be.
A day like February 14th, meant to be a celebration of the love we have, can easily become a reminder of that which is missing. You can’t even stay inside to avoid that couple walking hand in hand along the sidewalk; one click on Instagram from the comfort of your own couch can take you from “I love me” to “I love me not.” That wall in front of bike 18 has us thinking about external validation. This Valentine’s Day, we’ve had to get honest with ourselves: without the social media post, poetry on paper, flowers on the doorstep, or dinner reservation, are we still assured of our worth? Do we know who we are – and the love inherent to that identity – regardless of who we see or don’t see in the mirror?
Valentine’s Day is an amazing opportunity to hop on your own personal bike 18, looking inward instead of outward, and do the work to answer those questions. Like taking a spin class, it can be exhausting, uncomfortable, and scary, but so worth it. We hope you’ll unclip more free and empowered than before, no longer needing anything or anyone to reflect who you are. At Full Ride, we’re not about how it looks; we are about how it feels. Even when you can’t see yourself in the mirror, know that you are in the right place. Even when you can’t find the beat of the music, know that you are right on time.
Many of our riders are in awesome relationships – and we are so happy for you. However, we wanted to have a moment with our community members who can’t relate to that right now. Relationship status isn’t as simple as “single” or “taken.” Maybe you’re separated, divorced, lonely in a relationship, in love with someone who doesn’t feel the same way, conflicted by your family’s expectations, or amidst a war between your head and heart. Whatever your status is this Valentine’s Day, remember that you are loved no matter what love looks like in your life.
And if you ever have a hard time seeing that, the Full Ride community will do everything we can to make you feel it.
With all of our love,
Your FRC Fam