TELL ME ABOUT SOUL CYCLE

GUEST POST BY: LAUREN MECHLING (Lauren's my editor on City of Likes and has her own novel, The Memo coming out June 18th!

Do people still go to SoulCycle? What happened to SoulCycle? What is the SoulCycle?

Those were the three most asked questions that popped up when I ran a recent Google search on the fitness company that once hogged all the real estate in UsWeekly and the Daily Mail but that nobody talks about anymore.

I hadn’t really thought about SoulCycle in a long time, beyond enjoying the lemony smelling vapor that wafts out of my local studio whenever I tromp down Court Street. I used to “ride,” though, back when I was responsible for the fitness coverage at Vogue. Part of my job was frequenting all the boutique fitness spots that were cropping up all over town. I went to weightlifting sessions with Wall Street bros and pretended to be a ballet dancer with waifish midtown multi-millionaires. And according to the special welcome back letter that awaited me on the seat of bike 62 the other day, I had already spun my way to nowhere no fewer than 24 times.

What brought me back a decade later, you ask? More like who: It was the willowy blogger I met at a book party and who told me she goes to SoulCycle every day without fail. I laughed, but she narrowed her eyes at me. “I’m not kidding. Every single day. I used to be so fat.” Sure, I thought. Her “fat” was undoubtedly my “bikini beach bod.”

(Here might be a good place to let you know that I am Gen X, which means I grew up in a time starved of body-positivity. My friends and I sat around eating fat-free Snackwell cookies, and our girl crush was Chloe Sevigny when she was still in her street urchin phase. (If you don’t know what I’m talking about, I envy you in so many ways.) And now I’m in my mid-forties, and “enjoying” learning about all the fun things that happen to your body when your hormone levels go on the fritz. I don’t want to scare you, so let’s just say I used to have a waist and now I have a magic doctor who assures me that I will bounce back now that I am under her care.)

Anyhoo! Back to the book party, and the snake-shaped SoulCycle-crazy book blogger. The room was emptying out but she and I were locked in conversation. She proceeded to fish her wallet out of her bag and show me her driver’s license. The photo had been taken some years ago, and the woman in it was… not the woman standing in front of me. I swallowed hard.

“SoulCycle, you say?”

“Obsessed.”

I stood there, stunned. Was hormone replacement therapy a hoax? Was spinning furiously for 45 minutes on a stationary bike what was going to blitz me back in time and reunite me with the dresses I used to wear to the Conde offices?

And so the following morning, I purchased a set of three classes. They cost more than what date night would, but less than a new wardrobe. I was also under the influence of the book party pictures I’d just seen. My sparkly new Rachel Coney dress was a hit. But my new potbelly? I'd try anything!

So the following day, I found myself entering a dark room that smelled of the last class’s sweat. My co-riders and I were all over 40-somethings, clinging to the promise that we’d absorbed back in the day when Katie Holmes and Lady Gaga were registered SoulCycle fanatics once upon a time. Screw Peloton—SoulCycle still had it going on!

Turned out I’d signed up for an Irish-themed class, which meant our instructor led us through a round of U2 and the Cranberries and a ditty that allowed me to fantasize that I was dancing with a handsome lad at a pub. I emerged feeling sweaty and ecstatic. I messaged the blogger about my class. “Lots of Irish jigs!” She sounded unimpressed and told me that it’s really important to find the right teacher.

The next guy who I spent a credit on appeared to be promising. Most of his other classes were sold out, and when I showed up I found myself in a room with Beyonce on full blast. The instructor’s directions — “double tap!” “around the world!” — made no sense, but the confusion they caused also made the minutes flick by in no time. No complaints.

I messaged the book blogger again. This time she showed me a screenshot of her latest SoulCycle schedule. Apparently she had just taken three classes in a row. "I take it easier on Sundays," she told me. "Just one Soul class and then I do a Physique 57." Her Saturday morning agenda, I calculated, would cost me over a hundred dollars — and given the ages of my children, probably my marriage. Maybe SoulCycle wasn’t going to be my savior after all.

I had one last credit to burn, and showed up for a local cult teacher’s class a few days later. She had cool tattoos and tons of anecdotes about annoyances with her own husband and small children. And away we rode!

I couldn’t resist messaging the blogger after my class. I needed somebody to brag to. When was the last time I was ever so dedicated to a new pursuit?

“Guess what I did again!” I told her. I was high on my own supply, and delighted that my favorite jeans were now fitting again, sort of.

“Yay!” she replied. “But in the spirit of transparency I should tell you: I’m also on Ozempic.”

THE MEMO is avail for presale NOW! Thank you for this gem, Lauren!