I knew biking indoors with the group was going to be hard for me but the first session I attended was the longest, hardest, dullest, flattest ninety minutes of my entire life. It was so horrible. It was more boring than math.

It was so stultifying, I skipped the next three weeks, riding on flimsy excuses (bit sick, Orlando Difficulties Exhaustion Disorder (ODED—it’s an actual disorder, for real!), and then it was “I might be getting a bit sick…”).

Horrible, horrible, horrible riding inside. Debacle.

However. Exercise must be had or depression sets in like a fungus. So, last night, I hauled my bedazzled block and my beautiful Bianchi  and my softening buttocks down to Velo-land and Iggy was there. Iggy is the best. With Iggy in the pack, and all of us pedaling, it got off to a vaguely fun start. All us bike shop going-nowhere cyclists were watching a tiny screen where real actual outside cyclists churn across

It kept being fun. When Iggy yelled “car back!” and I laughed so hard, I lost my seat on my saddle. When we went down a “hill” together, Iggy didn’t pedal, he just leaned forward and sat there, hunkered over his bars, staring at the pavement at the exact angle you do when you’re zooming downhill. “Physics!”

Then CookieMonster passed his water bottle back to Vixen One, who rides right by the water cooler and she filled it for him—everyone pedaling RPE 7 the whole time, no one missing a beat. We were moving, we were everywhere. We were together, in the pack, in tiny shorts, just like real cycling, but the music was loud and

I think it’s so creative, riding inside with a group, because you are limited to your legs and your imagination. It’s like being a kid in the backseat of the car, stuck in the parking lot, adults in the store for thousands of hours. You can really travel in a situation like that. You have to. 

At one point, towards the end of the ride, I glanced up (we were on a particularly gruesome hill, all standing up and grunting) and through the plate glass windows, I saw a couple walking past the bike shop, departing from the restaurant next door, beer-thick, with Styrofoam take-out boxes in their hands. They were all bundled in coats and slipping on the ice. It really seemed like they were the ones—no offense—not getting anywhere and we were the ones having fun.

With funny strong good people, led by the visionary MC, hell bent on somewhere—it was a great, great night. And when the video ended, Iggy threw up his hands, all I won the tour! Which he did. And will again.

From debacle to bedazzling.