I think I had an orgasm on my spin bike

I am not generally a sweater. No, we’re not talking merino wool. We’re talking sweat, people, perspiration.

So, let me repeat.

I am not generally a sweater. I’m usually the one at the end of the race with a bright red face and splotchy limbs, looking a bit under the weather. I push my body to places that it doesn’t really want to go and the exertion settles right under the skin, asking to be released. It’s often a gripe of mine that I don’t sweat, since sweating cools you down and prevents that uncomfortable build up of heat I experience. For one thing, ending a spin class or a 10K looking like a lobster leaves much cause for concern from other participants. And secondly, sweat is like a badge. It says, “yeah, you worked your ASS off today!” It adds a healthy glow to your post-workout body, and I could use me some healthy glow, y’all – my skin is the color of skim milk.

I wasn’t asking for anything extra though, when I went to spin class this week. On Monday I successfully rose at 5 am and swam for an hour. The beauty of swimming is that you don’t sweat when you’re IN the water, so I always look like I kicked some ass if I make it out of the pool alive. On Tuesday I woke again at 5 am and dashed to the gym in time for a 6 am class. I haven’t been to spinning in quite a while. Having the third child around and working full-time has really thrown a wrench in my exercise regimen. (Ahem, that’s an understatement people.) But I am working hard to start working hard again. I am making my health and my muscles a priority. I have always been a warrior, but I feel that I am practicing my craft again by finding its limits and pushing back the barriers.

On Tuesday, at 6:27 am, I glanced at the clock on the wall. I had to squint to make out the numbers and when I did, I told myself that I better pony up. My body was growing lethargic already and we were only halfway through the class. I was feeling taxed not because I am so very out of shape, but because I had pushed myself so hard already with no care for pace, endurance or stamina. By nature I’m more of a full-throttle type of girl. It has often gotten me in to trouble, but I am proud to say that I have learned to live this way and still quite successfully completed a marathon – figuratively AND literally.

At 6:31 am I looked at the clock again. Shit! I thought. Shit. Shit. Shit. It’s only been 4 minutes.

And then? I moved past it. I moved past time. I moved past thought. My muscles just worked. I mentally carried the motion of my hips as my feet rounded the pedals, creating more and more power, more and more heat. And the heat, it started to escape. I felt the perspiration on my brow, along the nape of my neck and at my hairline build and start to pool. I felt the drips of sweat skating down the bridge of my nose and resting at the tip. I resisted the urge to wipe them away. I resisted the urge to slow down when I was asked to speed up. I focused on the beads of sweat at the edge of my face. I pushed myself and pedaled harder until they dripped away. I gripped the handlebars tighter and tighter, squeezing out drops of perspiration, creating a slippery surface on which to stabilize my movements. A clean, well-earned sweat was releasing from me, a normally inefficient kiln.

This went on for quite a while. My attention on the perspiration. My  movements. The music. Time clicked by with the rhythm of the bass thumping against my body. I closed my eyes. Opened. Closed. Opened. I felt everything opening up. My muscles, which should have been tired and tight, released. My mind kept my limbs moving. There was a whoosh of energy that surged through my body in an upward motion and flowed out the top of my head. I felt completely open and vulnerable, yet completely in control. What I pictured was my flip-top head. 100% unhinged. Parts of me quivered in places. Is that utterly ridiculous to admit, or what? Because really? Quivered?

Yes.
Really.

And this is where my mind went from there – as I pushed myself up the last hill:

You are in a dream.
And it’s the best dream of all.
Everything has come together.
Everything is one.
You are cracked wide open.
But you are free.
And all the world is waiting until you say it’s time to stop.
Until you say that you are finished.

The music stopped and my legs slowed down and the lactic acid started pulsing. The wind in my lungs was suddenly shallow. I pictured falling over onto my luscious bed. And then I said to myself, “Huh, I forgot what it felt like to be all tapped out after a good fuck!”

Read More in exercise, mind/body, Sarah Writes, sex, three kids