Jaw clenched and lips pursed, I stared at the screen in front of me but didn’t really see the latest student essay in need of grading. 

“How much is it?” I asked.  

“$2,000,” he said, and quickly added, “I can sell the car and get something cheaper. We can use that money to pay for it.”

“I won’t use it,” I stated matter of factly. I tried staring harder at my computer, switched tabs to my work email. 

A judgy sigh slipped out before I had a chance to stop it. There were so many other ways I would prefer to spend our money. 

“Fine, if you sell the car, you can get the Peloton.” I conceded. 

“But I still won’t use it.”

***

A few months earlier we drove 45 minutes to go for a mask-wearing test drive in 100 degree heat only to discover the car in question had a “mystery sound” the salesman conveniently forgot to mention before we wasted a morning of childcare on it. So when my husband presented the car swap for a Peloton, I felt reasonably certain it wouldn’t happen any time soon. 

But then my dad, ever the schemer, hatched a plan. We would do a three-way car swap. He would pass his truck along to my younger brother who would pass his wife’s CRV onto my husband who would pass his too-tiny-for-two-kids Lexus to my Dad. My husband and I would drive out of the deal with an SVU and--apparently--a Peloton. 

***

The Peloton took two months to arrive because of Covid-gyms-are-closed demand. 

I nearly forgot about it when the delivery guys carried the bike up to our loft. 

I wasn’t going to use it, you see. I have principles, you see. 

It all started with a tweaked neck. I had been working out pretty consistently considering the state of everything in the world, but a strained muscle in my neck had sidelined me for a week or two. 

And my anxiety was at an ALL TIME HIGH. I cried every day. I hated getting out of bed in the morning. I’ve known for a good while that exercise endorphins work better than any prescription medication I’ve tried for anxiety and depression, but this workout hiatus just proved it again. 

Still in pain, I walked up to the Peloton screen and created an account. Just to see how it worked. 

A “How to Adjust the Bike” tutorial popped up, so I lowered the seat, setting it to my hip level and scooting the saddle (spin speak for seat) forward. 

All I'd have to do is pedal. No neck or arm movements involved.

I had a decision to make. 

I could be right, stick to my judgment and my metaphorical guns and I-told-you-so's, or I could be happy. Soaked in sweat and pulsing with endorphins, happy.  I chose happy. 

With my husband working downstairs in the office and my kids as my witnesses, I hopped on and started pedaling. 

It was so quiet! Eerily so. 

“Mama’s gonna do a bike workout now,” I told the kids as I popped in my Airpods and let Usher drown out their whining. They bumbled around the loft, pretending to be Marshall and Sky from the Paw Patrol as I broke my first delicious sweat in two weeks. 

***

I have done a spin workout 12 out of the last 12 days since my first ride and did a happy dance when my own pair of special clip-in shoes arrived. I would like to write that I am thoroughly embarrassed about this, but I'm not. I'm too busy feeling happy--must be the dang endorphins.

This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in this series "Unexpected Joy".