The spin class is nearing the end. The metronomic beat that pervades the space in the room is starting to sound hypnotic. It conjures in my mind visions of congolese dancers and their sublime movements to the drum. The pulsation in the body seems to resonate with the beat, sometimes the sound of the heart is apparently akin to the sound of goodbye.
The tightness in the lungs annoys like an unmarinated idea, and it is getting very hard to keep with the beat. The mind wanders with abandon, as is its wont. It is now wondering about the numerous minefields that one has to watch for and carefully circumvent in order to arrive at disillusioned understandings of even relatively simple concepts.
Her voice punctuates my respite from reality. “For the next 30 seconds”, she says, “I want you to go all out. Harder than the hardest you guys have ever pushed”. I will be lying if I say I am out of energy, but I can feel the exothermic burn in the hamstring tissues.
The beat is now heavily syncopated. I feel like I am about to witness the opening of a gate to a sanctum sanctorum.
The song has reached a booming crescendo.
The congolese dancers collectively exult in ritualistic frenzy..