I went to my first SoulCycle class this morning, and I honestly cannot remember my life before it. I have read the articles, seen photos of Lena Dunham’s birthday party, and heard about the cult-like following. This morning I not only drank the Kool-Aid, but I chugged it. I don’t remember my baptism because I was 3 months old, but I may have re-baptized myself in my own sweat this morning. I also may have been given super powers. I haven’t tried to fly yet, but I’ll keep you posted.
I was a complete rookie once I got in there. My cousin had to sign my initials next to my name because I forgot. I also EMBARASSINGLY brought my own ghetto dish rag towel, not knowing they so graciously adorned each bike with a plush SoulCycle towel for each rider. I then had to ask if everyone was allowed to just USE the lockers, which we were. I put my belongings inside, and neglected to read the instructions on how to set your own lock code, so all of my gear was unreachable. WHOOPS. Strike three. But! They didn’t even kick me out. Everyone was so nice and helpful and didn’t seem a speck annoyed when I asked for the 4th time what bike number I had. I was already having the best Sunday, and I hadn’t even clipped my shoes in yet.
After I made my way through the jungle gym of bikes to lucky number 36, I braced myself and went into the SoulCycle trance. It took me two seconds to realize I want to be my instructor when I grow up. She could have even been younger than me, who knows. She immediately whipped her shirt off, and for a second I contemplated doing the same, then realized there were actual human beings in the room, so the shirt stayed on. You’re welcome, pack. I jumped, I pedaled, I sweat, I laughed, I cried (not really), I danced, I banged my head, I yelled, I lost my breath, I dropped my water and had to unclip and pick it up, and I just fucking rocked it. I then got yelled at when I told my mother I felt more empowered and inspired there than I did at Church Easter Sunday. SORRY, GOD, BUT YOUR MUSIC IS NOWHERE AS GOOD.
I have never once been upset when a workout was ending, but when the instructor said, “this is the last song”, I almost cried. I walked out the door with the other 55 members of my pack, aka my new best friends, aka my warriors, and walked right over to the swag rack. My cousin talked me out of purchasing a sweatshirt, tank top, and pants, but I will probably just go online after I write this and do it anyway. She and I decided we would join the pack at least one Sunday a month, (unless someone wants to donate to my PayPal account, then I would go every fucking day), and get our warrior on. If I still had AIM, I would make my new screen name SoulCycleSister4LyfeXo. Or maybe iLUvmyPAck69, if I were feeling naughty. Until then, I will just count down the days until I can find my Soul again.