I’ve abstained from joining the yellow bike cult for a long time—in terms of cycling, one could label me a late bloomer. I’ve heard about the flattering glow of the candles and the celeb-like status of the instructors who vacillate between drill sergeant and therapist faster than you can pedal with the resistance turned down. And last night, I finally relinquished my virgin status and rode the wave. I was scared. I was elated. I was part of that cool club of buff, beautiful girls that did it.
Talked into the virtues of SoulCycle by another beauty editor who moonlights as a dancer and possesses more rhythm than I can ever hope to attain, I agreed to give it a go. As I near closer to 30, my metabolism isn’t what it once was, and perhaps a true sweat session—as opposed to a leisurely barre class—is what I really needed to jump-start my body. (All you have to do is look to the pictures of the instructors on the site to convince yourself that 45 minutes is worth $34). “It’s Williamsburg—it’s not as intense as, say, Union Square,” my friend reassured me of biking in the borough, so I called and reserved a spot at the more “low-key” location. (Editor’s note: There is nothing low-key about this class.) The front desk was unusually kind, which as a New Yorker made me immediately suspicious.