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I Did SoulCycle And Nothing Will Ever Be The Same Again
Spin. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.
The one and only thing I know about SoulCycle prior to this point is that my class (henceforth referred to as a “Soul Session”) is scheduled to begin at 1:00 p.m. I am told to arrive by 12:45 p.m. As usual, I am not only behind schedule, but — as I quickly learn — I’m dangerously ill-prepared.
I round the corner at approximately 12:51 p.m. and encounter gaggles of traditionally beautiful athletic women loitering on the sidewalk. Most are outfitted in expensive-looking athleisurewear that has molded to their sculpted bodies like a recently-applied coat of Flex Seal. Some are nonchalantly grabbing their foot behind their buttocks for a preemptive quadricep stretch. Others are huddled together admiring what I can only imagine are last night’s selfies on their gold glitter-encased iPhones. Everyone appears as though they have spent their entire morning curating a meticulous aesthetic while simultaneously taking great strides to maintain an explicitly care-free persona that says “I text in all lowercase letters.”
As for myself, I have not shaved in roughly five days, I’m wearing a soiled baseball cap to cover my unkempt hair, and my jeans have a blossoming hole in the crotch that’s already about three inches in diameter.
I weave my way through the crowd on the sidewalk and garner reactions of covert finger-pointing, hushed gasping, and mouths involuntarily falling agape — I feel like Christ carrying the cross on the road to Calvary. Eventually, I make it to the streak-free glass doors, pull them open, and enter the frantic lobby (henceforth referred to as a “Soul Standby”). Inside, everything is vibrant white — the walls, the floors, the countertops, the fluorescent lights, the lockers, the meticulously folded towels, the front desk staff, and the overtly eager lycra-laden Soul Session clientele. Bodies everywhere are moving briskly and with intense purpose. I’m unsure where to stand, so I spend a few moments shuffling from one square foot to another. I cock my head back and forth like a Great Horned Owl on guard, a maneuver that undoubtedly cements my status as a foreign visitor.
At 12:56 p.m., I am flagged down by a SoulCycle employee (henceforth referred to as a “Soulstress”) behind the…
