I MISS IT ALL PART 3

When you decide that you want to do a Peloton workout, you can filter
your wants down to the smallest, most specific extremes. You can ride
for 15 minutes, 45, 90. You can spend the whole time going up a hill that
doesn’t exist. You can decide if your preferred level of difficulty that day
is 7.8 or 6.2. Whatever you want. You can choose your favorite instructor.
When you ride, you can turn the leaderboard off. You become the
curator of the museum of your experience. You don’t have to talk. You
can live in the workout you demand. In doing so, you are no longer
beholden to others, to their sweat, or a friend’s need for a bathroom
break. You can even pause and then return. What remains, after all of
this, are the only things Peloton deems a community good for:
encouragement, competition, and independence. If you want to give
someone a high-five, you can give them a virtual high-five. I once gave
one by mistake and then fretted about it for a day. I had no reason to do
it. It was an error, a stray finger. I couldn’t apologize. I couldn’t see the
recipient’s face. I felt ashamed. The instructor peppers in encouragement
throughout the workout. Birthdays. Milestones. Things that are holistic
and uncontroversial. If it’s your hundredth time taking an on-demand
spin class, you’ll get your name shouted out. If you want to race, too, you
can race your community. Goodbye, friends. But if you want to go at
your own pace, you can ignore the leaderboard. Either way, it’s your ride.
You choose.