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Illustration by Brooklin Holbrough
Like every gym class I have ever taken, I felt like the odd one out. I opened the door and hesitantly asked, “Is this where HIIT class takes place?”
In response, the high-intensity interval training instructor yelled “Everyone grab a dumbbell and yoga mat, we’re late to start the warmup!” But the “warm up” was a lengthy series of arm, leg, and core exercises, topped with several laps around the perimeter of the gym. I lay panting on the mat, uncertain how or even if I was going to make it through the hour.
Glancing around the room, I seemed to be the only one struggling. The one who collapsed first when holding a plank. The one who gave up on jump squats before the timer rang out because her legs were burning. The one who the instructor directed all the modified exercises at.
Everyone else, in their fitted Lululemon tank tops and leggings, not a hair out of place and not an inkling of sweat to be seen, looked as if they belonged. I on the other hand, with my curly hair now wildly unleashed, oversized shirt and baggy sweats, wondered why I had ever bothered to subject myself to a HIIT class.
Earlier that year, with a healthy dose of encouragement from my family, I decided to give fitness a real shot. All my life, exercise had been a foreign concept and in school, gym class was a place of guaranteed embarrassment and humiliation.
I showed up to my university gym for spin class on Sunday morning with my stomach in a bundle of nerves. I had considered cancelling multiple times, but I told myself that showing up was all that mattered. Now that I had shown up, I stood uncertainly next to my bike and wondered how true that was.
The instructor was incredibly kind. He asked who was new to the class and although I never said I was, within minutes of seeing my sloppy form, he knew. He walked us through all the various positions on the bike multiple times. I was surprised to learn that most of spin class is spent standing or bent over the handlebars while pedalling, rather than sitting.
The first time I tried to stand on the bike pedals, I felt my legs wobble and immediately sat down. All the muscles I hadn’t used before creaked as they suddenly engaged in rapid movement. I did this awkward dance multiple times, each time my cheeks burned in embarrassment at my inability to hold a simple position. It wasn’t until the third class, when I smoothly transitioned to standing up on the bike, that I started to gain some confidence.
Eventually, as my comfort on the bike grew, I became less focused on how I looked and the exact movements my legs and arms were to engage in and more focused on looking inward. Whether I needed to think about something bugging me, dream about the future or just mindlessly pedal, spin class became my hour a week just for me.
The more I spun, the more I realized how powerful my body was. I had never considered myself athletic. But now, for what felt like the first time, I was proud of my body’s capabilities. Rather than agonize over my weight, I started to reflect in amazement at my body’s ability to transport myself places, lift groceries, move apartments and all the other countless tasks it did to keep my life moving forward.
By the end of 10 classes, I was hooked. So, I signed up for another 10 and then another session. I raved about it to my friends and even convinced one to join me.
After nine months of spinning, I wanted to challenge myself again. And that’s how I found myself inside the high-intensity class. Each session was humbling – I never quite improved at HIIT as quickly as I learned spin – and my body would take days to recover, the aches in my knees were the absolute worst. If spin class reacquainted me with moving my body, then HIIT class taught me that I have to continuously work to build my fitness and tackle my insecurities.
Somewhere between being yelled at to squat lower, jump higher and push harder, HIIT class made me realize that while I was wrong about many things when it came to fitness, I was right about one important thing: What truly matters is showing up, not what you wear or your fitness abilities. Because once you show up, the rest gets easier, one sweaty adventure at a time.
Vaidehee Lanke lives in Montreal.