It was love at first ride

How speeding up your heart can slow down your mind

After years of competitive basketball, dancing, and a slew of other sports in my youth, I entered adulthood with the knees of someone triple my age, without the wisdom that comes with it.

When I could barely walk the day after an outdoor run, I knew I had some lifestyle changes to make.

I loved swimming, but it wasn’t a sustainable long-term option for my coily curls. Indoor cycling was all the craze and after hearing it was gentle on the knees, I gave it a try.

It was love at first ride.

Navigating which bike to choose and how to adjust my settings was an exercise in itself. I coyly raised my hand when the instructor asked the group whose first time it was. He showed me proper bike placement, positioning and form, and how to click my cleats into the pedals.

My love affair with cycling started with the music. The bass you can feel in your bones. A playlist that shifts the whole room. The encouraging words from the instructor and the feeling like we were all on this ride together. From warm up, to hills, to speed intervals, to flat road, to cooldown.

We all gathered for a shared ride with a shared goal: speed up our hearts to slow down our minds.

Strength vs. Sprint

The toggle between strength and sprint is a constant tension, and all of it is self-directed.

In a cycling session, the amount of resistance you experience is entirely up to the individual rider. The instructor provides direction on how to scale the level of intensity, but the physical turning of the dial, only you can do.

Strength mode will compel you to slow down.

The slower pace allows the rider to dig in and really feel each and every rotation. If the resistance is high enough, you have to use more than just your legs. You engage your core and your arms for balance and use all of your body to keep the cadence smooth and measured.

During moments of challenge or change, slowing down is often the wiser move. I learned that during a major career transition. Taking time away from work opened me to a future I wasn’t expecting. My shift from tech to architecture asked me to use very different muscles.

In sprint state, you must lighten the load to speed up.

Your legs move effortlessly, but to maintain high speeds at a rapid click requires endurance and focus. Matching the timing of your pedal stroke with the pace of the music helps you stay locked in.

In cycling and in life, our instinct when we need to move fast is to push harder, add more. However, releasing the weight and giving in to momentum is the real value of the sprint. I experienced this myself when moving to New York for grad school. I left my friends, my condo, and my previous career all in Chicago. I had to let go to accelerate.

From student to teacher

Following several years of corporate work, I entered grad school and quickly remembered what it was like to be on a student budget.

I balanced three concurrent jobs plus a full-time course load. I was a Teacher’s Assistant (TA), a marketing coordinator at the Big Red Barn (shout out to any Cornellians reading this), and a cycling instructor through the University’s athletics department.

This is where I learned to ride from the front.

Music was the heartbeat of my class. It would set the stage for the ethos of the room and provide motivation when my words were silent. I always asked who the first-time riders were so I could help them get settled in. This new vantage point taught me the same fundamentals I learned as a student: the intensity of the ride is in their hands. I was simply a guide.

Synchronized moves from seated sprints to standing hills created their own flow of energy. I could see the bikes’ revolving wheels, and the riders’ rocking movements, as they pushed through a difficult set to reach the end. Each class had its own rhythm, its own pulse. And each time, I felt something I could only feel from the front.

The cooldown

Cycling teaches us something true about how to move through the world. The dial is the same whether it’s your first ride or your thousandth, student or teacher. In cycling class, in work, and in life, the resistance is yours to set. No one can turn it for you.