Taking a Powder

I’ve traditionally had a dim view of any athlete caught using performance-enhancing drugs. But I suppose I can no longer pooh-pooh the “a friend gave it to me, I didn’t know what it was” excuse. No, not after last night’s spinning class.

There I was, in the back row of the darkened room. We were told the A/C was out, so were coping with Bikram-esque conditions. I was uncomfortable, but I’d been uncomfortable on my three previous occasions in class. (Full disclosure, “uncomfortable” is pretty much my natural state.) The bike itself is stationary, and yet every individual part of it moves. The handles adjust up-and-down, the seat adjusts up-and-down and front-to-back, and there are little adjustable strappies on the pedals. I have no idea what the correct settings are.

I settled in best I could, placing on the handle rack the 16-ounce Poland Spring water bottle that I’ve reused 1,000 times (and before you tell me that this will kill me, snopes.com says it’s OK) and about 43 workout towels. My former crappy gym did not provide towels, so now I think I’m overcompensating.

And we were off. Music pumping, instructor barking encouragements and admonitions, pushing those pedals, out of the saddle, back in the saddle, out of the saddle, increase that resistance, toes straight ahead, you’re gonna burn calories in here but how much is up to YOU.

Mark was on the bike to my left; he’d introduced himself before class. And now he was handing me a narrow plastic packet. I looked at him quizzically so he explained, “Pour it in your water.” I felt like we were passing notes in the back of class.

I didn’t know what I’d just taken possession of. It was dark in the room, and, in terms of multitasking, maniacally pedaling and sweating profusely are about all I can handle at once. Reading a label was not going to happen just yet. But I immediately knew that whatever it was, it would soon be in my water.

I had to do it. Meeting Mark was a big moment for me. In the month since I’d joined, I hadn’t yet made a friend at the gym. Sure, there were some familiar faces from my mysteriously bankrupt former gym—the fist-bump guy, the young woman who I called out “Francesca!” to but was really her twin sister Rebecca—but no new acquaintances to ask “how’s it goin” or solemnly nod or, you know, fist-bump. So I wasn’t going to blow my brand-new friendship just by refusing to ingest some foreign substance.

When next we were allowed back down “in the saddle,” I methodically took the cap off my bottle, tore open the top of the packet, poured the powdered contents in my water, put the cap back on, and shook vigorously (the bottle, not me). And mind you, none of this was easy—I am not particularly skillful at sitting on the little seat without holding the handles.

The water turned blood red. Powdered blood, perhaps? Human blood? When next I got an opportunity, I examined the empty packet and learned what I was dealing with: Crystal Light. I quickly flashed-back to ’80s commercials with Linda Evans in aerobics attire and “I believe in Crystal Light…and I believe in me!” But my brain held no other information on the product. Still, at least it wasn’t an anabolic steroid or some sort of amphetamine.

Performance-enhancing drugs have been proven to produce side effects such as liver tumors, jaundice, high blood pressure, and infertility, just to name a few. Nor was my “experiment” without its negative repercussions. My water—usually tremendously refreshing, as I ration it out during the hour-long class—was now sweet and kind of gross. And yet, because it was life-sustaining liquid, I had to keep drinking it. Yechh. Also, it left red smudges on one of the countless towels.

I wish I could say I just walked away from it all, but it’s not so easy here on the mean streets. In the locker room afterwards, Mark cornered me and slid me an even larger packet. “This one’s good for a 32-ounce bottle,” he said. I’ve heard about these gateway drugs. Well, I’m clean now. But it’s one day at a time, brother. One day at a time.