SoulCycle

Y’all are not gonna motherfucking believe this, but I went to SoulCycle today. They’re running a promotion for those of us graced by the light of Google, and I got to enjoy being shouted at in the dark for forty-five minutes for free, if you can believe it.

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Ok so first of all, the World’s Tightest Ass occupied the bike in front of me, emblazoned with the Lululemon logo (to be fair, I was wearing Lululemon leggings too, but only because I snatched them out of the Google donation bin when no one was watching like a fucking ogre) and topped by a torso wearing a SoulCycle shirt. Like, have you ever looked in the mirror? I mean, obviously you look in the mirror, like if I looked like you I would have a mirror surgically installed on my body to face myself at all times. But like…you wearing that shirt is like an Abercrombie sweat shop worker buying an Abercrombie shirt and wearing it to work at the sweat shop, except for the sweat shop pays them instead of them paying it.

Can you imagine a sweat shop worker somehow stumbling into a SoulCycle class? You are paying someone to scream at you in a room that smells and feels like a teenager’s Dutch oven while you work your ass off and sweat balls. In fact, I bet that in five years we’ll find out that SoulCycle has actually been gathering kinetic energy from all of us idiots and selling it to Con Ed for a sweet profit. This is some Black Mirror shit if I’ve ever seen it.

Halfway through the class I felt like I was gonna poop my pants, because it was so fucking hot in the room. If there’s something I can be proud of in my life, it’s that I’ve made it this far without pooping my pants. I kept pedaling, weighing my options. Poop my pants, or get up in front of this entire room of active wear models and TV movie CEOs and Disney Princesses and leave the room to cool off. I ended up risking the former to avoid the latter. This is the kind of environment I chose to be in for forty-five minutes today. This is why people end up as sister wives, y’all!

I really, truly, honestly have no interest in looking like that. It would make the descent into flabby old age that much steeper. Plus, I fucking love cake. The only reason I work out is so that I can write in my blog and eat cookie butter straight out of the jar.

Anyway, I have two more free classes, and I’m definitely going to go to them.

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