Darryl is BACK. New Yorkers rejoice!
Rebecca and I made plans to finally go to a Darryl Gaines spin class together after seven months of discussion. So at 12:30 PM on Saturday afternoon, I could be found clicking my spin shoes into the bike at Flywheel Upper West Side.
The commute from East 82nd to West 83rd was a struggle.
|Yes I did send this photo to my brunch date.|
The class was effing ridiculous. I can't even begin to express how much I missed hearing, "The music is not an accident. To the beat. To the beat," and "Are you in? That is not a question." I peddled, I danced, I yelled, I cried tears of joy. No really. Actual TEARS OF JOY.
|I jacked this photo from a guy named Patrick's Facebook account and blurred out everyone's faces.|
That's not creepy or anything.
The energy in the room was truly amazing. The old Equinox crew was there and the Flywheel UWS regulars were there, and new folks were there and it was beautiful. And the trolls who hated on the dance party were just jealous that Darryl came over and held my hands while I powered through a particularly nasty hill. Darryl's classes really are like night club dance parties minus the cocaine and the bottle service. Speaking of which, I always forget that Flywheel has complimentary bottles of water. Love that place.
I had never been to Flywheel UWS before and I liked it a whole lot better than Flywheel Flatiron. I loved how airy and full of light the reception area was and how bright and clean everything seemed. And I heard their showers are supposed to be nicer but I haven't used them yet.
It was a totally great way to start off an awesome Saturday. I sweat out my hangover before going to a brunch date that went surprisingly well since I am a curmudgeon who is destined to be alone with cats.