Faster, harder

Spinning, she enlightens me, was an idea conceived for professional cyclists so as to allow them to practise indoors in adverse weather conditions. It is just one of the many fitness modes TailSpin offers, and they are all structured to allow a diehard gymrat to move from ashtanga yoga to kick-boxing to jazz ballet to spinning within the space of two-three hours to avail of the full mind and body experience. ‘‘My aim,’’ says the incredibly fit US-born Killough-Dhar, ‘‘is to inculcate the concept of health consciousness in lazy Indian minds (and bodies) — they have excuses not to exercise at the tip of their tongues.’’

Battling feelings of guilt, I listen as she explains that the cycles in her studio do not have metre-gauges that record the miles, but do have a knob which makes all the difference between the feeling of trudging up a mountain and flying down one. The spinning room has throbbing music, so that her clients can blank out the mind and concentrate completely on the body.

Reminding myself that cycling was one of the few things to tickle my sedate sense of adventure, I join the class. Bushra, the instructor, explains the moves to me: three positions, the resistance knob and the comfort levels. As I poise myself for a take-off, I feel the eyes of my co-exercisers — each on their own cycle — boring into me. Unnerving, but the first touch of speed pushes all apprehensions into oblivion. With all my energy and spirit, I do the first couple of rounds feeling like I’m on the top of the world. The adrenalin’s rushing in my veins, the blood is pounding in my ears… wow, this is easy! Graduating to Position 2, the exhilaration plummets suddenly. I feel like I’m going to drop, like my legs are completely incapable of carrying my (over)weight.

Position 2 involves lifting onself off the seat, increasing resistance, moving the body forward and then peddling furiously. Obediently reacting to my instructor’s advice, I get back to Position 1 (still peddling) and marvel at the energy levels and fitness of the women around me, most of them older than yours truly. Banishing all feelings of inadequacy, I concentrate on the blaring music — J Lo, Sabri Brothers, et al — and wonder how the instructors select the music they do. For, there is a pattern. With heavier resistance (read burning more calories), they prefer the relatively slower beat (When A Real Man). And for the sprint, which is the last round and by far the fastest, the choice is Bango Song.

Before my thoughts can wander too far, a booming voice interrupts, ‘‘C’mon, challenge yourself, push harder.’’ For a moment, it feels like I’m back in school and being admonished for slipping into my habitual reverie. The next set is to last eight minutes, with sections of Position 2 and Position 3 and a medley of resistance. I survive these minutes quite peacefully, this time taking in the atmosphere — the lights, the sweat, the action — while following every instruction.

But the section I enjoy the most is the sprint, when the pedals move the legs rather than the other way round. I close my eyes and let the senses take over. And as I pedal faster (while Bushra asks us to visualise our own ‘mountain’), I see the most incredible scene unfolding before me: My ‘mountain’ is the ball high up in the air coming down faster than I could run. Tony Greig was yelling, ‘‘If she drops the catch she drops the Cup’’. And I must have been peddling furiously, for, yet again, Bushra’s voice telling me to ‘‘keep it up’’ interrupts.

I ‘‘wake up’’ feeling brilliant, exuberant and alive. Delhi’s pollution has not affected me. My asthma has not acted up. My health drive has not eluded me.