The crisp edge to the air whispers what everyone is thinking, "Autumn has…arrived?"
This is a favorite time of the year in the Blogorelli household. Not only does my #1 holiday (my birthday) occur during the season, but the temperature is perfect for quality back-to-school fashion, picnics in the afternoon sunlight on a light wool checkered blanket with a warm beverage-filled thermos, and general coziness. Not to mention the peak offering of many fine apple and pumpkin products: apple butter, pumpkin pie, apple cider, pumpkin beer, apple crisp, pumpkin seeds...
Fall is practically perfect in every way. Except that the season is when I've decided to start my new "hardcore" (ha) exercise regime in order to prepare for winter hibernation. September usually still signals a fresh start in my mind, harkening (did I just really pull that word out? Yes, yes I did) back to the time when I was in school, which meant new supplies and new outfits, and a (mostly) "clean slate."
This fresh-eyed approach also applies to life in general…which is how I found myself up at 5:30 this morning and at Ballys Fitness by 7am, strapped onto a bike with a very muscular man screaming, "RIDE THE EDGE!!!" at me. That's right, I've started spinning.
The principle behind spinning seems easy enough: riding a bike. Who can't do that for an hour? Duh. But ride a bike up a hill for an hour? No. No fucking way, Al Gore. Ten minutes in, I was sweating so much that, had someone given me a sweatband, I would have worn it seriously and wholeheartedly across my forehead.
After 40 minutes of the instructor yelling, "PUSH! BREATHE! PUSH! PUSH! PUSH! GO! EMBRACE THE EDGE!" I started to vaguely understand what being in labor must entail. As a classic rock guitar solo ended the class, my thighs wept — literally, with sweat.
One shower and a lot of caffeine later, I'm at work and moderately productive. And oh yes, I'll take the class again…if not for the workout, then at least for the total indulgence of listening to a little stadium rock in the early a.m.