Look closely at the photo below. Note the intensity in my eyes—their laser-beam focus on the trainer yelling at me in real time. This photo encapsulates exactly how I imagined this experiment would go.
My plan was to nearly kill myself for 30 days; the exact length of Peloton’s free trial. Every day, I’d pedal until the act of gasping for sweet air refused to take a backseat … until I had to choose between stopping or dialing 911 … until I started seeing my dead grandmother at the end of a long tunnel of light.
Then I would internalize all that trainer’s yelling—filing it alongside the yelling in my head from my mother—and take it to the free stationary bikes in my apartment building’s gym, which I always avoid. Finally, I would shed the 20 pounds clinging to me since college; the last time my belly button was an outie.
At least that was the plan.
“You never know your limit until you exceed it!” yelled Alex Toussaint, my Peloton trainer. And he was right. Mine was exactly nine minutes after activating my new Peloton.
Where the Wheels Came Off
It didn’t help that you need $125 special magnetic shoes—that you can’t return—to use a Peloton. So I took the budget route: $35 toe cages that allow you to wear normal shoes. What Eric the friendly Peloton salesman didn’t mention is that the weight of these cages flips the pedals upside-down, requiring a second person to physically guide your feet into them every single time. And nothing boosts your confidence like asking your spouse to act like your mommy helping you onto your first tricycle. But never being able to use my Peloton without a foot spotter was only part of the problem.
I thought having gym equipment smack in the middle of my living room, the laziest room in our apartment, would guilt me into action. There it would be, reminding me before my morning coffee, after my daily nap on the balcony once the coffee wears off, and after my second daily nap on the balcony. Instead, all it reminded me of is how much I wanted never to use it again.
In the meantime, I continued riding my actual bicycle—the one that goes somewhere. It got me out in the sun for 15 minutes, let me wave to neighbors and other cyclists, and took me to the gym. My daily workout will not impress you. It includes just one set of 20 reps on each of five exercises on my building’s universal machine—which takes less time than my nightly oral hygiene routine. The only time it makes me proud is when someone walks in before I’m done so I can grunt, “100!,” slam the bar down and strut out.
But a gym rat once warned me never to work out for longer than I’m comfortable doing, or I’d eventually quit. I doubt he meant “nine minutes in the middle of a 15-minute bike ride,” but I’ve biked and hit the gym almost every day for the past 10 years, so he was right.
Trial of Shame
This failed Peloton experiment mostly made me feel bad; not just for what I didn’t put my body through, but for what I put the company through. As I discovered when I visited my local Peloton store to place my order, this is not a brand that’s doing gangbusters. That’s because I have no local Peloton store anymore. Last year, Peloton closed all but five of the roughly 100 U.S. showrooms it once operated, part of a restructuring to save $100 million by the end of fiscal year 2026.
The new way to order a Peloton is online, which is how I ended up on the phone with Eric. And, I’m glad I didn’t just buy the cheapest Peloton I saw online for $600, because Eric explained that those were reconditioned units that didn’t qualify for the free trial. For that, I had to spend $2,000 on a brand new cross-training model with all the bells and whistles.
My Review—Yes, I Have One
How were my nine minutes of Peloton use? Not motivating enough to pony up $2K for a unit and then $49.99 per month to join the Peloton community—even if I had it. But honestly, after my wife helped my feet into the cages, and I figured out the user interface, the classes were pretty cool.
Each class you take places your screen name on a leaderboard, where it competes with every other name in the class. My quick burst of death-pedaling pushed me to No. 114 of 134, an accomplishment I may sneak into my LinkedIn profile. (Endorse me for “cardio–beginner level,” guys!)
And there are hundreds of different classes each day besides cycling, including yoga, meditation and boxing. Although I couldn’t motivate myself to take those either.
But Peloton, if you’re reading this: 1) Fix your damn toe cages; and 2) Make Pelotons that yell at you while they’re powered off.
