The Generator

This one stung like a bee. I am going to try in a steam of (un)consciousness essay to deliver the story. Hold on to your hat -  it is a sad one. 

Having both prepared what I thought was a killer set list and a protocol that would challenge and entertain, my regular Saturday morning spin class had just begun. I am painstakingly providing the scientific and physiological reasoning behind my choice of words, music, movements, resistance, cadence and focus all necessary for a successful session, one I expect to have great value.  All this, I explain, will come together with flow, grace and balance, as long as our commitment to the effort is optimal. This is a ‘no matter what’ drill I say, there are precious rest and recovery sections, so please use them to your overall benefit. 

Warm up is over, are you ready?

Boom, boom, boom comes the wall shaking thunder from upstairs interrupting my every attempt to transcend the studio atmosphere from the mundane to the magical. This has happened before. Every time it does I leave our room, climb the stairs and address the instructor. This usually only takes once. 

But today I see an instructor that has repeatedly defied my objections leading two people in a heavy rope drill, the weight of the thick line crashing the floor with each repetition. I look at him and say ‘you can’t use this space for this type of drill when we are in the classroom below, just can’t.’ I turn off the lights to illustrate my sincerity in protecting the rights of my classmates below. 

I return to the saddle and am provided with an update by one of the riders indicating where we left off, what had transpired and where we are in the protocol. It was surprisingly accurate so I acknowledge and thank her grace under fire management. 

And I begin to look at mine. I am wanting to put it behind and carry on, but something is gnawing at the good/bad, right/wrong, cause/effect, sinner/saint, goat/hero unbiased witness in my head. As hard as I try to recapture the moment, I am struggling with the fact that I had just lost my composure, berated an instructor in front of clients and responded in an altogether childish, unprofessional and disrespectful manner - even though I felt as if I, and more importantly my class, were the ones being disrespected.

I had told the instructor, the supervisor and scheduler about this before. When it happened again this morning I considered it a direct attack on me. And I responded as such.

We get through the class salvaging a decent session and I shower thankful no signs of arrhythmia resulted, and make my way to the front desk where I owe the staffer an explanation and an apology. I do so, find the instructor and apologize to him also. I am still feeling horrible as I sit now and try to inspect the emotions and responses that caused my overreaction.

I think it was an overreaction. I think it was also standing up for my class. I am embarrassed that I allowed my composure to be so visibly shaken. But however I choose to spin my response, it will always come down to this simple fact:

I was wrong. I am bigger than that and no matter how provoked or disrespected I felt, I should have acted with calm, understanding and forgiveness. I am the generator. 

I did none of those and truly feel more remorse than I can remember. 

I should resign to save management the duress of figuring out if this incident is cause for termination. 

The things I should have done - I didn’t. 

That error created the problem, not the provocation, the noise, the intent or anything else. I created this mess by my gross lack of presence.