Spin class, active recovery, and emotional Self-care
Originally published in The Friday Feels — September 30, 2022
How spin class taught me about active recovery, why getting stronger doesn’t mean things get easier, and what that has to do with emotional Self-care. 👇
The first time I went to a spin class, I thought I was going to die.
I swear my life flashed before me while I clung desperately to the bike I was clipped into, in a small dark room with a bunch of sweaty strangers while top 40’s blared from the speakers.
I was sweating buckets, my heart had never pumped so hard or fast, and I thought my legs would give out from the exertion. It’s even possible that they did give out, and I didn’t notice because I was physically attached to the bike and that weighted fly wheel just kept going.
Obviously I survived, but I swore that I’d never go back and voluntarily subject myself to that kind of physical agony again.
Then, I started working at lululemon and got invited on sweat dates... ones that I didn't want to say no to, because I had just moved to a new city and wanted to meet people.
I was too proud to admit defeat by exercise bike and my new friends seemed to really buy into this spinning thing, so I kept going back to (and eventually fell in love with) sweaty dancing on a stationary bike.
At my peak fitness, I had been spinning for a few years and was training to become an instructor. I was going much faster, with way more resistance than that first ride — and — I was sweating buckets, my heart had never pumped so hard or fast, and I thought my legs would give out from the exertion.
The biggest difference was that my active recovery had improved dramatically.
I talk about recovery a lot as a Self-care practice:
Recovery is the ongoing practice of identifying your needs, then taking the necessary actions to meet them and fill your cup.
When we think about recovery, the first thing that comes to mind is usually rest in the form of sleep, naps, massages, hot baths or showers, meditation, i.e. activities that require you to stop and be still.
Here’s the thing:
I have two kids and two dogs who also have needs and are my responsibility. There are times that I need recovery time, but they also need my attention and it’s hard to navigate those competing needs, especially because they are constantly fluctuating.
Sometimes we can’t stop all the way to recover… and sometimes, we actually don’t need to.
It’s so helpful when I can tune into my inner environment and figure out the kind of recovery I need to regulate and get back to being my best Self. I have to check-in and see if I need to fully stop to get rest, or if I just need to slow down.
It’s a fine line between the tension of growth and the rupture from pushing too far, and we have to tune into our feelings to be able to find those boundaries.
(Experience can be a harsh but very effective teacher.)
How spin class taught me about active recovery
Each spin class began in a similar fashion: the instructor would review the positions on the bike, we’d find our "flat road," and set an intention for the class. We were asked to check in with ourselves so we could show up and honour our bodies' needs — that meant pushing ourselves when we could, and taking time to recover when we needed it.
But recovering didn’t mean stopping, and, it didn’t mean no effort.
When you’re on a spin bike, it’s a bad idea push zero tension — especially if your legs are moving quickly — because otherwise there isn’t muscle contraction to provide stability for your joints, and it becomes really easy to hyper-extend your knee and get hurt.
At the start of the class, the instructor would tell us to find that spot of no tension for just a moment, and then add the tension until we could feel our legs engage. That was called “finding our flat road” — like when you’re riding a real bike and you’re on a flat road, or if you’re out for a run and take a break to walk. The effort is minimal but it’s still there, and that’s where we would find our resting place during the class.
That pocket of time — where my heart rate went from peak exertion levels back down to almost resting while I was still actively pushing tension — measured my active recovery.
The longer I went to classes, the shorter that active recovery time got. I could push myself harder, slow down to my flat road for some rest, and be ready to go again — and, I started to find my flat road recovery zone with more tension on the bike; my body recognized what used to be effort, as rest.
Even though the effort in the moment never felt “easy”, my body’s ability to recover got so much better as my capacity increased and I got stronger — both in the spin studio, and out in the wild. When I went for a run, I spent more time running and less time walking. I was more attuned to my body, and got better at meeting myself where I was at. I learned how to settle into the temporary discomfort of the effort, and my body learned how recover on-the-go.
The work didn’t get easier but I got stronger, and over time, what used to ruin me became my warm-up.
If you are in full-on Retreat mode, you need full-on recovery practices. What is “normally” your flat road will probably register as exertion, and that’s okay. This isn’t about constantly performing/giving/being in reserves — it’s about having a sustainable, intentional Self-care practice that allows you to meet yourself and your needs where you’re at right now. 💛
Active recovery in practice
Spinning and run/walking are just a couple examples of how active recovery can function in the physical body — when you can actually feel your heart rate decreasing and your breath slowing down — but the practice holds true in other areas of Self-care as well.
Writing is a way to tend to my mental and emotional well-being as an active recovery Self-care practice.
It feels good for the mental accomplishment piece of my brain to wrap up a piece, and the practice of putting words on the page allow me to sort through the emotional chaos of feelings in my body and the overwhelm of thoughts in my brain so that I can address the specific needs at the root of the feels.
But.
Sitting down to write is never really an easy process. Some days, the words come together more easily than others, but it's never easy — I’ve just gotten better at seeing it through the more that I plant my butt in the chair (or on the bed).
I've gotten better at using writing as a tool to excavate and organize my thoughts + feelings.
It's always work because that's part of growth, just like spinning always makes me sweat, but the process has been transformational.
When I’ve put in the reps of sifting through my thoughts and feelings about any given situation in a controlled environment, then I’m better prepared to navigate the tension or conflict as it arises in the real world — just like hours of spinning prepared me to run a half-marathon. It also helps me to process my reactions in the aftermath, like going for a walk in the days that follow a race.
Growth requires tension and healing — neither of those processes are easy.
Physically, it looks like muscles growing as a result of repairing microtears on the tissue level. Emotionally, it looks like facing (and resolving) conflict, both internally and externally, to develop more depth and strength in relationships.
That means that I’m able to recognize when I reach the limit of my ability to communicate or be in an emotion during a conversation, and I can regulate in the moment (active recovery) or dial down the tension and create the space to recover.
In the case of mental or emotional tension, regulation looks like being able to step back from the stressor, recognize the feeling, identify the thoughts and stories that are coming up as a result of those feelings, and make a conscious choice about what do to next — versus reactive from a defensive place, which is what happens when we aren’t able to manage our stress.
When I’m assessing my own mental + emotional well-being to figure out the kind of Self-care I need, measuring my active recovery has been a really helpful tool for determining capacity.
The more I’m able to remain with my Self and stay calm during moments of conflict, the better my reserves — because maintaining that level of chill is SO MUCH MORE WORK than it looks like.
If I’m unable to regulate in the moment or my fuse is really short, then I know it’s time to build in some more intentional recovery practices… and get to practising repair as needed. 😬
Why recovery matters
Recovery allows us to honour our feelings and needs so that we can find resolution instead of getting stuck in the emotional riptide that neglected feelings can perpetuate. Sometimes we need full and complete rest to meet those recovery needs, and other times, we have to rely active recovery — when we have to do that regulation work in the moment.
Recovery doesn’t always feel good, but it leads to better outcomes. Because it’s only when we honour our feelings and set healthy boundaries that allow us to meet our needs, that we can truly build our reserves and develop the capacity to support the people we love — and ultimately — create that meaningful change we’re after.
This is the practice, this is the work.
Don’t expect it to get easier, but trust that you’ll get better at it.
Sitting down to write still feels like work every single time, even though it’s a regular Self-care practice of mine. Getting on the spin bike or going for a run still makes me sweat and gasp for breath. Asking for help when I need it still requires a deep breath and a prayer for courage.
In the tension of growth and repair, fear consistently shows up. Resistance shows up. Criticism shows up. Shame shows up.
The point isn’t happiness in the face of that side of the coin, it’s trusting that the other side is there even when you can’t see it, and taking steps towards it anyway.
A healthy Self-care practice helps you you get better at rolling with the punches and (hopefully) sticking the landing — and that’s where you learn to hold your ground so you can stand up for the things that really matter.