The Peleton Bike
A few weeks ago, my research seminar professor invited us to Forbes’ backyard to enjoy crepes and share stories from sophomore year. I thought this meant we were supposed to write them down. The others didn’t get the message. So, I ended up reading this graduation-esque speech in front of everyone. One of my classmates said she was hanging onto every word… so I thought I would share. Without further ado, here’s one of my big takeaways from this semester:
When thinking about what to share today, I was at a loss for stories—which is ironic because, as a blogger, I’m constantly telling them.
I considered talking about the time I got food poisoning last semester, or the week I spent trailing a Spanish and Portuguese senior with a camera for a “day in the life” video (yes, it was as weird as it sounds). I thought about the challenge of having to go home at the start of week eight to put my dog of nine years down, only to return to campus the next day and pretend nothing had happened. I thought about teaching ESL and throwing out the class textbook, or even the sheer volume of TV shows I binged during those first cold weeks of February.
However, I settled on something much simpler: a Peloton bike.
In a past life, I was a national champion triathlete, cross-country runner, swimmer, and rower. Since arriving at Princeton, it’s fair to say I’ve been thoroughly enjoying my “athletic retirement.” But over the past six weeks, I decided I needed to get back to the gym—not just because it’s “good for you,” but because I was convinced my writing and research would improve if I did. Spoiler alert: it did.
The one thing I didn’t enjoy about the gym was the mental load of it. I couldn’t just walk in; I had to have a plan. I had to choose cardio or weights, which machine to use, how hard to push, and for how long. It wasn’t very motivating—until I found the Peloton. Tucked away in the corner of the new addition to the 1986 Fitness and Wellness Center, that bike became my hidden gem.
You see, while I wanted to work hard, I didn’t want to decide how to do it every single day. The Peloton solved that. Armed with a giant tablet and a roster of instructors sharing life wisdom while yelling at me to go faster, it removed the friction. I could show up “empty-minded,” knowing only that I wanted to sweat, and let a virtual stranger coach me while Taylor Swift sang in the background. It was perfect.
Peloton was more than just a bike; it was a metaphor for this class—and for life.
At the beginning of this year, many of us didn’t quite know what we were doing. We just had big ambitions and a desire to work hard. In this metaphor, [our prof] was our Peloton coach. He set the intervals, mapped out the hills, and provided the guiding words (and memes). All we had to do was show up and put in the effort. The same went for our weekly assignments: there was a plan, and our only job was to execute it. As Bradley said during my ride, “Get out of your head and execute the plan.”
That is the key. As scholars, we often get lost in the “what-ifs” and the daunting future of our projects. We lose focus when we should be focusing on the immediate step—like just getting through one more article.
The same goes for life. They say life is a marathon, but really, it’s a set of Peloton intervals. There are moments to push and moments to recover. For us as students, the most important thing isn’t how long we can red-line our engines, but ensuring we actually take the rest the plan calls for. Otherwise, we risk the “injuries” of burnout and exhaustion.
Ultimately, the most important lesson I’ve learned from both the bike and this classroom is the value of trust. I had to trust the instructor to lead the ride, and I had to trust the syllabus to lead my research. But most importantly, I had to trust myself to handle the resistance when the knob turned up. As we move beyond this semester and into our next “intervals,” I hope we all find our rhythm—knowing when to sprint, when to breathe, and exactly when to listen to the coach.