Page 67 of Spinning Out Of Control

My fellow instructors fill in most of the remaining space, decked out in a line of Spin Sync-branded tees and tanks with “Kira’s Killa Saturday Sixty” on the chests. The remaining bikes are taken by members of the production team, baristas from the lobby cafe, and our in-house DJ. It seems like every Spin Sync employee that isn’t currently in the production room above us is in the room right now, for me. The numbness I’ve felt all morning is slowly–slowly–being replaced bysomething I can’t quite put my finger on, but it’s better than feeling nothing.

Right across from my friends on the bike closest to my left side sits Ren. He’s got on a white t-shirt I’ve never seen before that says “I <3 Kira”, something so ridiculously endearing that I have no choice but to laugh and go to him.

I run on my tip toes across the studio, high-fiving my teammates as I make my way to my man. Relief floods his face when he sees me coming. I hate that I instilled that uncertainty in him. He leans down from the bike as I throw my arms around his neck, sinking into his warm embrace. His lips brush the side of my head as we hug, neither of us caring about the awkward position.

“I was rude this morning. I said things but…my brain may be spinning out of control right now, but I don’t want to lose you. Tell me I’m not going to lose you.” I say, burying my face against his neck and drinking in the clean-cut scent of him.

“Don’t you worry about that one bit, love. You just go up there on your bike and do what you do best, and I’ll handle everything else,” he says, his voice a whisper against my ear for only me to hear. I might not have any idea what he means by handling everything else, but I trust him.

Despite my better judgement, despite all the reasons I thought I shouldn’t and all the times I tried to convince myself not to, I put my faith and trust in Ren. Imay have made a lot of stupid and crappy decisions in my life, but falling in love with Warren Yates is the one thing I know I got right.

Pulling myself from his arms, I ascend the stage and situate myself on top of my bike just as the countdown to the pre-show ends. The red-light flashes, signaling the beginning of the livestream. The opening notes to “You’re So Vain” by Carly Simon play overhead, one of my favorite songs of all time. The contradiction of the soft melody and the lyrics so sharp they could cut glass fuel me, igniting the feeling I’ve been yearning for all day.

Anger. I’m finally fucking angry.

And I’m ready to let that anger out.

Despite the mass drop-out of studio riders at the last minute, my tablet is still showing thousands of riders joining me on demand from their homes.

Good. I’ve got a lot to say.

“Spin Sync, my name is Kira McKenna and this is your Saturday Killa Sixty ride. We’re doing things a little differently today, so I want you to open your ears and listen to the music and to the words I have to say to you. I want you to think of something that pisses you off and vow to exorcise it right here, right now. We’re leaving everything on this bike today. I want everything you got. No cucaracha energy, okay?” I give my safety speech, and as the clock winds down and the show begins, I take a deep breath.

“Inhale, exhale…Spin Sync, welcome to what I like to call Female Rage: The Spin Class.”

The lights dim, the producers upstairs picking a very fitting red back light for the walls today, making it feel like we’ve just descended into hell as Halsey’s “Nightmare” plays. I say very little through the first song, only piping in to give form and output cues.

I let the biting lyrics speak for themselves, and when we reach the second verse, I stare directly down the camera as I yell out “I’m tired and angry but somebody should be” along with the song. It’s the perfect lyric to encapsulate everything I want to scream from the top of my lungs right now, and hell if it doesn’t get my heart rate pumping.

The next song starts, “The Man” by Taylor Swift, and I lean into the shift of vibes. I look into the camera, thankful that I don’t have a script being fed through to my tablet so that I can speak from my heart.

“I’m going to be honest with y’all. I’m not in a good mood today. In fact, I’m feeling a little fucking pissed off. Something happened to me this morning. Something that was a long time coming and still felt like a pistol whip to the side of the head. You see, there’s this man. This man who, until recently, signed my paycheck. A man who, for years, has been jealous of me. A man who would tell anyone who asked that he saw something special in me, that he was the reason I’ve found success in my career. That he’s the reason I’m sittinghere on this bike, spending my morning with you. I’m not gonna say his name, he doesn’t deserve it. But if you opened your phone this morning and scrolled through social media before clipping in, you know exactly who I’m talking about. And I’m going to tell you a little story. Add some resistance. We’re going uphill together.”

I drop my speed back, cueing the class to follow me as Taylor sings around us.

“When I was just nineteen years old, I fell under the spell of an older man. Tale as old as time, someone who should have known better saw an easy target and made me feel special and important. He had me hook, line and sinker. I was smitten, and I gave him pieces of myself. I was young and starry-eyed, and I shared my dreams with him. I told him about a vision that I had for something just like this. A fitness platform, a community, a place for connection. I told him how I wanted to be able to reach as many people as possible through movement and fitness. I even told him the perfect name I’d come up with, a play on my favorite boy band. I gave him too many details, thinking I was sharing with someone who cared about me. Imagine my fucking surprise when a few years later, that man had taken my idea and stolen every piece of it, right down to thefuckingname.”

The song reaches the bridge, and I cue the class to get out of the saddle with me. I let Taylor sing to us about how unfair it is that if she were an angry man,she’d be respected, but since she’s an angry woman, she’s demonized.

“And then he came to me, acting like nothing had happened. He made me feel like he’d done nothing wrong. That those kinds of things happen all the time. He had the money and the vision and he made Spin Sync possible. And the fuck of it all is…I let him. For years. I let him take the credit and the glory for my brainchild because I thought that if I worked hard and proved myself, it would all one day be mine. I was modest, I was quiet, but FUCK that. No more. You see this room? This studio wasmydesign. The music playing? We can play it becauseIsecured the licensing. My amazing teammates that are in the room with me right now, the people you love to workout with? Maddison, James, Alex, Jess, everyone.Irecruited them. All of this exists because of me, and that fucker had the nerve to run his fucking mouth and say that I’m only here because of who I invite into my bed? FUCK THAT!”

I roar, settling back into the saddle. As the playlist continues and we are greeted with the deliciously pissed-off sounding Rina Sawayama screams at her adversaries to shut the fuck up, I lead the class through a set of heavy and difficult intervals.

“I know you’re frustrated. I’m fucking frustrated. I know it hurts. I’m fucking hurting, too. But use it. Use the frustration and the pain and turn it into fuel. I’m not the only one going through something. We’ve all had something stolen from us. We’ve all had someone try toknock us down, but we’re here. We’ve got air in our lungs, our hearts are pumping blood. They can knock us down, but they willneverknock us out.”

I lead us through another set of intervals, a climb, a flat road, and then repeat the process, all while Stevie Nicks, Alanis Morissette, Chappell Roan and a slew of other badass female artists provide the soundtrack to my deliverance.

When we approach the penultimate song of the class, “labour” by Paris Paloma, I cue the class to pedal slow and heavy, listening only to the sound of their heavy breathing and the poignant lyrics and transcendental melody. To my right, I catch Georgie wiping a tear from her red eyes. Rachel is riding with her head bowed, her shoulders hunched as she pedals. Dottie is snarling and trying to sing along to the chorus through her breaths.

Each one of my friends has had their own struggles with parents or ex-lovers who have stolen their power from them, and as much as this moment is for me and my own catharsis, it is very much for them, too.

With four minutes left in class, “Breathe Me” by Sia pumps through the speakers, a haunting melancholy compared to the anger and rage of the last fifty-five minutes. I glance down at the leaderboard on my tablet, at the three thousand people still taking this ride with me at home. I look around the room at my friends, my family, my teammates, and my love. And I decide that I won’t feel cleansed until I bare my whole truth.

“When I was twenty years old, I almost took my last breath. I struggle with depression, and at that time, I didn’t understand it. I didn’t know how to cope with it. I was…overwhelmed. I was numb. And I came very close to ending my own life. I came so far as to say my goodbyes. By a twist of fate–or maybe it was parent’s intuition–when I called my dads to tell them I loved them, they knew something was wrong. They dropped everything based on a hunch and flew across the country to be with me. They saved my life when they showed up on my doorstep, and I got the help I needed.

“I’m better now, but this morning? This morning, that numbness was back. That unfeeling, thicknothingnessovertook me, all because of lies someone decided to spread about my character. It scared the shit out of me, but I’ll tell you something. I might not be able to control my brain chemistry or the way my body does or not produces serotonin, but I can decide how I respond to it. Back then, I responded with fear. Today, I respond with anger because I am fuckingdonewith letting someone else hold the keys to MY power. If you are struggling, if you are hurt, if you are pissed off, know that I am with you. I’ve got your back, and I’ll be here to lift you up and fix your crown when you fall. In this last effort, I want you to give me everything you’ve got. All that shit that’s weighing you down, you leave it right fucking here. That shit doesn’t follow us out of here. We drop it and we fucking run. Are you ready? 3…2…1…go!”

We power through the last interval, sprinting uphill for fifty seconds to the powerful instrumental outro, and by the time the final note of “Breathe Me” ends and the cooldown clock begins, I’m drained. Physically, I worked myself to the bone. Emotionally, I’m spent. Mentally, the temporary relief from the spins is fading out and the overwhelming wave of exhaustion settles over me. I’m contractually obligated to lead the class through a cool down and a short stretch for the safety of our students, even if the majority of the people in this room are my coworkers. There are still people at home that I want to help prevent from injuring themselves.

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