I was in the hallway of the gym last night between classes, watching the itty bitties splash around in the pool in the name of learning to swim (it's ovary-tuggingly adorable, like looking at newborns in a hospital), when I overheard a woman telling her friend that she hadn't attended the spin class because when she tried it last week it was too hard. It made me think about the first time I tried it and how bowlegged and noodly and dehydrated I was when it was over. I understood.
And then she ended up on the mat next to me in pilates. After an appropriate amount of mat positioning and sock removing I made eye contact with her and said, "I overheard you in the hall outside talking about the spin class."
She smiled and seemed interested in what I had to say so I continued, "Give it time. Six weeks ago I had never even been on a spin bike and now I love it."
"I don't know. It's just so HARD. I mean, I tried it once but I don't think I can do it."
"You'll get the hang of it after about the third ride. Just hang in there."
"Oh, I don't think I'm going back."
Huh. It never dawned on me to quit. Even when it hurt to walk and to bend and to get up and to roll over in bed and . . . never once. Even when I had to start all over after being sick for weeks. Even then, EVEN THEN, I never thought about quitting, because pain is temporary.
We had barely moved into some of the more challenging balance and ab work in the pilates class when Ms. Everything's Too Hard stopped trying. I'm not sure what she was accomplishing on that mat of hers but I do know it wasn't the least bit strenuous. She eventually rolled up her mat and left. Poor dummy. She'll never know what it's like to have conquered something soul-suckingly hard like riding a bike and doing fancy crunches. Stupid quitter.
