Chapter 30 #2
Still, I sit down on the floor and turn on a playlist from an old Y2K pop class, setting my phone down next to me.
Close my eyes, imagine the words flowing like a stream.
Set my hands in my lap and do four-square breathing.
In, slowly, until my lungs are full and my abdomen expands in every direction.
Hold it. Then out, slowly and methodically again, until I’m empty.
This is when I’ve always tried to clear out the red, to turn it to green. Maybe I should try naming the red instead. In my swirling stomach, it’s anxiety. In my tense shoulders, it’s stress. In my pounding head, it’s fear. And in my heart, it’s sadness.
In. Hold. Out. In. Hold. Out.
Afterward, I return to my position in front of the window.
“Hi, everyone,” I say. “As you may know, I’m on vacation, taking some time for myself right now.
But I wanted to hop on here for a couple reasons.
First, I’m having a low-key day today, so I thought it would be fun to invite everyone to join me in a live strength class this evening at six Eastern.
No equipment needed! On the live, you can submit questions to me about anything, and I’ll answer some between sets.
Fitness questions, clothing recommendations, relationship stuff.
Go for it! I also wanted to tell you that I’ll be back in the CycleLove studio in ten days, at nine a.m. Eastern, six a.m. Pacific.
If you’ve ridden with me before, I can’t wait to ride with you again.
And if you haven’t, I’ll share a code in the live for you to get a free month and see what CycleLove is all about.
I’m excited to see you tonight and I can’t wait to ride with you soon! ”
There. I drop to the floor and collapse against the wall. I don’t know how I’m going to pull myself together enough to do a live class tonight. I thought teaching was hard when I was in my little rut before this trip, but that was nothing compared to the emotional decimation of the last two days.
I should’ve never left Los Angeles.
The hotel gym is basic. A row of treadmills and elliptical machines, a rower, and an open space with free weights.
Rubber floor tiles, fluorescent lighting, clean enough as long as you’re going to shower directly afterward.
It’s the kind of place everyone comes across in their travels, which is exactly the point.
I’m wearing an orange floral-print All & Every set and a full face of makeup.
Tracy and Summer are in my earbuds, ready to read me viewer questions.
They’re going to pick the ones I least want to answer, I’m sure, and I’m going to take it with a smile.
I chose this, I remind myself, but I still feel like I’m about to deliver my own eulogy.
“Hi, everyone!” The viewer number is high and climbing, but I try not to focus on it.
“I’m so happy to be hanging out with you right now.
We’re going to work up a sweat together and have some fun, and I couldn’t ask for more on this lovely Thursday night, so thank you for being here. Now, let’s start with squats.”
I demonstrate the proper form, and at least that feels comfortable.
“You should be proud of yourself for doing this right now,” I say.
“We spend a lot of energy on other people. Sometimes that’s a good thing, but sometimes it’s not.
Imagine if you could get back all the effort you wasted on someone you were interested in who didn’t reciprocate?
You’d be a superhero. So let’s take that energy and put it into a set of speed skaters. Go. ”
I follow that up with rounds of dead bugs and push-ups. Then it’s time for a sip of water and the first question.
“What were the highlights of your road trip? It looks so fun and I’d love to do one someday,” Summer reads.
Images flash in my mind. Belly-laughing with Nate in the car, a thousand times over two thousand miles.
Winning The Floor Is Lava with him. Our night in the RV.
But in this world, for this version of me, none of that happened.
“The people. The people you’re with—the people you meet—that’s what makes a trip like this special.
” I add feebly: “And Colorado was beautiful.”
Another round of exercises. I rise from a set of bird dogs and brush off my thighs. “Maybe you can’t count on someone who says things like ‘I just don’t know if I want a relationship right now.’ But you know what you should be able to count on? Your pelvic floor.”
That’s true, I guess, but my tongue is heavy in my mouth, weighed down by the phoniness of it all. Teaching this class is an out-of-body experience. I don’t know who this person is, peppering in sassy faux wisdom between sets.
The second question is a request for advice about workplace romances— Don’t do it, I want to shout, but I refrain. Caleb still works at CycleLove too, so I answer as diplomatically as possible.
The end is within reach. One more round, and one more question, and then I’m going to see my best friend and not show my face online until I go back to work.
“I’m training for a marathon and my relationship just ended,” Summer reads. “How do I get my focus back?”
If this person is anything like me, they won’t.
They’ll just keep going and keep feeling like shit.
“Put one foot in front of the other,” I say.
“It’ll get easier with time. It may even help you heal.
And afterward, you’ll be a person who ran a marathon.
What an accomplishment! You deserve to be that person, so don’t let this stop you. ”
It’s a great place to end, but my mouth keeps moving. “That’s the thing about life, right? It’s hard, but we keep going. The key is that we do it together. You have me, and I have you.” All I have is them, I think. All I have is CycleLove.
Back in L.A., I will live alone, far from everyone who matters to me, and make smoothies for one and go to work every day, where I will pass my crappy ex-boyfriend in the hallway and then talk to these people through a screen about how awesome it all is.
My eyes fill with tears. “We get through it!” Keeping my voice steady is a struggle.
I grab a towel and pretend to wipe sweat from my face.
“Are you crying ?” Tracy asks in my ear. Shit. “Quinn, if you’re crying, use it. It’s perfect. The vulnerability.” I subtly shake my head. “It would mean a lot to them,” she presses. “They can relate. Let them see.”
She doesn’t care what it means to them, except when it affects CycleLove’s bottom line. And obviously she doesn’t care about me.
I’ve always been defensive when people called CycleLove a cult.
I looked at it from the perspective of our riders, and it seemed like a huge exaggeration.
But what about for me? Tracy and Co. expect me to show their preferred quantity of abdomen and smile as often as their tracker says I should.
They want me to use my pain for their benefit.
They’d prefer that CycleLove be my entire world.
They want me to put myself in the hands of their nutritionist and their social media expert, so I become the version of myself they think is best. They encourage us to socialize outside work and date each other—probably one reason I don’t have any friends in L.A.
—and they mine those relationships for content.
Ideally, in their minds, we believe in the brand wholeheartedly, and we can’t walk away.
Which makes it sound…a little like a cult.
I will not cry for them. They already get enough from me. They don’t get this too.
The smile I give the camera is my absolute pearliest. “Thanks for joining me, everyone! If you want to sign up for a free trial of CycleLove, you can use the code QUINNFREE. Have a great night!”
It’s a small victory. A crumb I’ve managed to keep for myself. But they took everything else, and I’m the one who handed it to them.