THE WOODWARD/MORFOOT CONUNDRUM ~ Spinning Out of Control

“Fear eats the soul.”

~from Ali: Fear Eats the Soul, a film by Rainer Werner Fassbinder

On Saturday I cried over a spinning class. That’s right: a spinning class.

Let me explain.

I try to attend the local YMCA’s spinning class twice a week. It soothes my soul. Spinning is literally so hard that I can’t think about anything but survival. So after putting Harry down for a nap at 10:30 AM on Saturday, I raced to the Y in hopes of making the last spinning class of the day. I was feeling high and mighty when I made it to the windowless classroom and grabbed the last vacant bike with five minutes to spare. I climbed on and started to warm up. As I was giving myself an imaginary pat on the back, I heard the instructor say, “Oh no! Who didn’t sign in?”

I was silent. Outside the classroom a white sheet of paper was pinned to the door with a few scribbles on it. Usually, I put my initials down and then race to claim a bike. Saturday was an exception—I didn’t feel I had time to give my signature. I needed to get my ass in a seat before someone else took my bike. Never in a million years did I think that writing my name down meant bike ownership. I was wrong.

Once I fessed up, I was asked to leave. As I gathered my belongings, all the goody two-shoes who had signed in stared at me in silence (the idiot who didn’t sign in). I felt like I was back in elementary school, or worse—middle school. I’d been caught and now I was being punished.

As I closed the door, the instructor turned on the techno music. I thought about using the StairMaster, but then I felt my eyes well up.

Hold it in Addie! Hold it in! Hold it in! I repeated these words to myself during the 15-minute walk back to my apartment, but it didn’t stop the tears. I was mad at myself. Mad for crying about a stupid spinning class.

It wasn’t until I made it to my street that I realized why I was weeping. Every morsel of my being was filled with fear about the following aspects my life:

1)  My family’s impending move. Where we will reside on May 1st is still a mystery. So is the amount of our future rent.

2)  Fear about finishing my thesis. Will I make the deadline in spite of the move? Will I be proud of the finished product? Will it amount to anything?

3)  Fear of finding work. As previously mentioned, my husband and I are both freelancers, so work is never a guarantee.

4)  Fear about not being a good mother. What if I have to put Harry in yet another daycare? How will he handle that change along with the move?

I wish I could say that when I arrived home, I pulled it together, but I didn’t. I sobbed while confessing all my fears to Ross. Lying face down on my bed, I took a few deep breaths and channeled one of my favorite films—Rainer Werner Fassbinder’s Ali: Fear Eats the Soul. It’s a German film from the ’70s about a widow and an immigrant, an “us vs. them” story. I’m not sure what I love more, the movie or the title.

Either way, I’m beginning to realize that fear does in fact eat the soul, which is why I’ve decided to stop worrying… or at least try to stop worrying. Come May, my family will have a roof over our heads. At the end of the day, that and our health are all that really matter. And spinning of course!

Addie Morfoot is a freelance journalist at Daily Variety and is finishing her MFA in creative writing at The New School. Last year, her world turned upside down when she gave birth to her son Harry. Each Monday, she writes about juggling work, school, marriage, and motherhood in the Big Apple.