No. 12

“Nostalgia is the diary we carry around in our hearts.”  Oscar Wilde

It’s wild, isn’t it? The way one small trigger can make the past feel close enough to touch. One song, one photo, and suddenly you’re somewhere else entirely. The present blurs, and for a moment, you’re back in a time you hadn’t thought about for decades.

It’s easy to think nostalgia is just about looking back, but really, it’s about reconnecting. It’s your mind’s way of reminding you that joy, connection, and meaning have always existed, and you can bring that feeling forward whenever you need it.

You know I love a fact, so here’s my ‘science-y’ moment: Nostalgia activates the parts of the brain linked to reward and emotion, the same ones that light up with love and connection. It releases dopamine (we’ve talked about this before!) and oxytocin, which is why a nostalgic memory feels so warm. It even lowers cortisol, which explains why hearing a song from your childhood can instantly calm you, even if you didn’t realise you needed it.

Talking of childhood, imagine the nostalgia overload when I ended up ‘backing dancing' for the 90s bands I grew up watching on Top of the Pops. Performing with the same artists whose posters were on my walls was wild. I’d be in rehearsals learning routines that I’d already known for years. It was surreal, and very natural.  Nostalgia has a way of doing that, it boosts belonging, optimism, and self-worth. Remembering who you WERE helps you understand who you ARE now.

Lately, after losing Paul, nostalgia has felt different. So many of my adult memories include him, and while some carry sadness, they also remind me of continuity. I’ve lived through change before and found joy again. Nostalgia anchors us when life feels uncertain; it’s a bridge between past and present, a reminder that time changes the scenery but not the essence.

When we reach for old playlists, rewatch childhood films, or find comfort in a decade we didn’t even realise we missed - it’s not regression, it’s restoration. A reminder that we’re built from every version of ourselves that came before. That song you played on repeat after a breakup? It’s not just the melody you’re remembering, it’s the version of you that survived it. Gotye ‘Somebody That I Used To Know’ will always stir something in me. 

Nostalgia shows up in a hundred tiny ways. For fun, I gave myself 30 seconds to list a few, you should  try it too!

Born in ’87, raised just outside London - my childhood nostalgia list:
Jane Norman pink bag
Tammy Girl
Tiny Nike backpack
Blow-up chairs
Trolls & Furbys
Barbies
Dream Phone
Cartoon socks (don’t ask)
A lot of gold jewellery - clown necklace - just NO.
First CDs: Hepburn I Quit & Shampoo Girl Power (both horrendous)
Peter Andre posters on my bedroom wall
Eggy bread - never better than my Nan’s
Brown sauce - Grandad’s favourite
Gladiators
Blockbusters

Time was up, but I could go on, and on, and on. Childhood memories are flooding back! Can’t believe I didn’t think of the Pizza Hut ‘serve yourself’ salad bar and dessert bar immediately! 

Sometimes I’ll lean into nostalgia intentionally - a throwback playlist at Peloton, a childhood film (this Halloween I watched Roald Dahl The Witches, which terrified me as a kid), or flicking through old photos when I’m feeling untethered. It’s grounding. It’s also a reminder that while so much changes (and it really, really does - big sigh), some things - joy, connection, music, laughter, stay the same.

Ever wondered why nostalgia hits so hard? It’s because it sneaks in through our senses - the smallest cue can transport us completely.

Music - Old playlists, school discos (had my first kiss to Macy Gray’s I Try - the whole song, in fact!), wedding tracks, or that Peloton playlist that teleports you back to somewhere special. Melody and emotion share the same part of the brain, which is why sound triggers memory so powerfully.

Photos & Keepsakes - Those dodgy family photos where the fashion was questionable but the happiness was obvious. No photo contrived, just a snapshot of a moment!! Old diaries, concert tickets, jewellery - small things that hold BIG meaning.

Places - Hometowns, theatres, childhood bedrooms - the spaces that shaped you, and you can still feel your old self lingering.

Pop Culture - Rick Astley in my baby book, 90s dominated for me by the Spice Girls and Top of the Pops routines I just had to learn. Shared nostalgia - that collective ‘remember when?’ feeling connects us.

Simplicity - Nostalgia often blooms when life feels complicated. It reminds us of slower times: handwritten letters, pre Iphone weekends, the joy of waiting for your favourite song on the radio and trying to record it on tape. I loved it all. 

There’s a lot of talk about ‘romanticising your life,’ but maybe nostalgia is the real-life version of that. It’s not about creating a fantasy, it’s about remembering the real. The people who shaped you, the moments that built you, the proof that you’ve lived deeply. Perhaps most importantly, it’s a reminder that every version of you - even the awkward, overthinking, figuring-it-out one, was doing her best with what she had. She got you here.

If the world feels fast or uncertain (and when doesn’t it?), nostalgia can be the pause button you didn’t know you needed. A way to breathe, to remember, and to reconnect, not just with who you were, but with who you’re still becoming. 

“Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory.”  Dr. Seuss

All the remembering in the world doesn’t stop real life from creeping in. Some days, the spark just isn’t there, and that’s where this next bit comes in…

Ok, so this is one for my Peloton crew, but I do think it can be relatable in your own way, bike or not. When I first started teaching at Peloton in 2018, I knew the power of movement. What I didn’t realise was how much that stationary piece of hardware, sweat, and studio would become one of my greatest teachers.

The bike doesn’t move, and yet we travel. We go through seasons, emotions, and realisations - sometimes in 30 minutes, other times, less. It's a mirror for life: the climb, the breath, the moments you think you can’t, and then somehow, you always do.

Over the years, I’ve learned that you don’t have to move fast to move forward. Some rides are slow, heavy, uncomfortable, but resistance builds endurance, not speed. The same is true off the bike. The ‘slow' seasons, the ones that feel like they’re dragging on forever, are usually the ones quietly making you stronger.

Then there’s the reminder that you can’t pour from an empty tank. Every ride starts with a warm up, a moment to have clipped in, take a breath, check in, focus on you and let go of anything that's been going on. You fill your own cup before you give it to anyone else - that’s not selfishness, it’s just the way it should be.

No two rides ever feel the same. You can have the same playlist, the same coach, the same fitness plan, and it still feels different. Some days you’re powerful; some days you’re just hanging on. Both count. Both teach you something. That’s life too - messy, inconsistent, beautifully imperfect. 

Let's talk about the moments you surprise yourself - when you hit that final push in the last track, serious heat in the legs, comfortably uncomfortable, and you somehow keep going. That’s not just physical strength; that’s proof of resilience. The bike has this way of reminding you, again and again, that you can do hard things. That’s why I believe every workout is a milestone. 

There’s something quietly magic about riding alongside thousands of people you’ll probably never meet, all chasing their own version of ‘better.’ I’m talking COMMUNITY - the heartbeat of Peloton. My purpose and full time focus. You feel the energy of the leaderboard. My first ever class had 136 people join and I was blown away. Fast forward a few years to my first ‘Live from Home’ class during the pandemic and I taught an 80s ride with over 10k on the leaderboard Live, and community at that time was everything. The numbers now are consistently brilliant and I feel so proud to know that we are never really alone, even when we’re pedalling in our space. That sense of community transcends the screen every ride. 

When the ride ends, when the music fades, you unclip and remember: there’s always another ride. Another chance. Another beginning. You don’t need to be perfect today. You just need to keep showing up. The numbers are the cherry on top, it’s the feeling, the connection to the moment that got you through.

If you’ve ridden with me over the years, you’ll know this bike has seen me through a lot. This bike has seen me through my first big career change, my relationship with Ben including an engagement and a wedding (or two). It’s seen me through miscarriage and now pregnancy, losing my best friend, my Grandad and most recently, Paul and working alongside the grief. It’s seen me through my Breast Cancer journey and continued recovery. We moved into our dream home, got Jags, I developed as a fitness coach and worked out how to grow as a woman through most of my 30s. I’ve had the most amazing highs, lowest of lows, and become a version of myself I love but never planned for - all whilst being in it together and on the screen of your bike. When members tell me this bike has changed their life, I’m right there with you. 

The bike that goes nowhere keeps teaching me that movement isn’t about miles,  it’s about momentum. It’s not about escape; it’s about return. Back to self. Back to centre. Every time I clip in, I’m reminded that movement is a mirror. It reflects who we are, what we’ve survived, and what we still dare to become.

Sometimes the greatest journeys are the ones that happen standing still, on a bike that goes nowhere, and yet somehow, takes you everywhere.