Want to Buy a Peloton Bike? In 2023, It's a Loaded Question.

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Personal confession: I'm a Peloton Person. You probably have an image in your head about what that means, and let me tell you, you're exactly right: I laugh at the instructors' jokes so much that I hate myself, I once cried during a Taylor Swift-themed ride, and I obsess over all the app's little badges, medals, and goals. Oh, and when I pass someone on the leaderboard? I high-five them just to be a dick. (Eat me, IRideForCabernet34.)

My Pelly origin story surely sounds just like every other member of Generation Bought a Peloton During the Pandemic: By the time March 2020 ended, I already arrived at a long-overdue realization that gyms, second to the hydrogen bomb, are mankind's worst creation. Turns out, I kept my membership just because I liked the sauna conversation with Eddy—who would hotbox the joint with so much lavender oil that my breath smelled like a candle for a week. I enjoyed working out where no one could see me wheeze, but my old P90x DVDs weren't cutting it. In fall 2020, I moved to an apartment complex with a Peloton bike—the OG model, created in 2014 (!)—and my commitment level with the thing reached a point where I bought my own when I moved out. (More on that soon.)

Though, while COVID is still very much a thing, there ain't Spongebob Squarepants plushies attending MLB games anymore. It's an option to, you know, go to SoulCycle. Or Equinox, Orangetheory, and/or your local LA Fitness, where you can also small-talk in a sauna and hope you run into Adam Sandler. Even rocking a slew of hardware nowadays—including a rower, strength-training device, treadmill, and an improved bike—Peloton isn't exactly the beacon of hope it once was during the pandemic. This has been heavily reported, but the company's stock-market value has responded accordingly.

So, should you shell out for the thing—and join the merry band of Pelotoners? Well, it depends. In 2023, there's a lot more to consider than should I buy the bike or not? Let's break it down.

Yes, the Bike Holds Up

I own what Peloton has dubbed the "Original Peloton Bike," which will put you back a whopping $1,445 samolies. So I'm not totally equipped to tell you about its successor, the Peloton Bike+, at $2,495. The main difference between the two? The Peloton Bike+ has a screen you can swivel, plus it can adjust resistance automatically. Take from that what you will.

For a nearly 10-year-old product, I have to say: the Original Peloton Bike holds up. Sure, there aren't many bells and whistles—the drowsy speaker system makes headphones a must—but it more than gets the job done. Even though the bike had a seat recall in May, I've never had a problem with it. Every ride is smooth—and feels sturdier than those little spinning bikes at your local gym.

But you don't really buy a Peloton bike for the hardware. Sure, you purchase it for the convenience of having a workout bike at home—which, duh, is explanatory. Really, you invite Peloton into your life because of the classes, which after all of these years, are incredible. The instructors—Cody Rigsby, Tunde Oyeneyin, Rad Lopez, Matt Wilpers, Callie Gullickson, the list truly goes on—are stellar. They're about 90 percent of the reason I bought the bike after using the one in my apartment building. Peloton's crew of teachers aren't annoying, always give you a tough workout, and quite simply, are a great hang.

Plus, Peloton has full access to Spotify's library, so the music is always solid—and the themed classes are even better. (Shoutout to Robin Arzon's Encanto ride; I sang so much that Bruno talked about me.) I can't stress this enough: If you buy a Peloton anything, you'll at least be satisfied with the classes.

The Pelly Life

Following a ton of tiny quality-of-life changes over the years—including, finally, the option to log your own outdoor runs—the Peloton app is pretty dang good. Peloton offers just about every type of workout you can imagine: pilates, running, biking, weightlifting, stretching, yoga. The app is a quality fitness tracker, too, tracking things like calories burned (over various periods of time) and which muscles you've been working.

The only problem? The membership program is absurd. Take a look through Peloton's membership tiers. In a nutshell: If you want all of Peloton's classes—including the very ones you bought the bike to take!—you have to pay for the tippy-top membership, priced at $44 a month. The price is worth it if you're truly committed to Peloton as your fitness provider, even if you don't own any of the hardware. If you're working out exclusively with Peloton, and not making eyes with [solidcore], then the cost is absolutely justified.

Here's what this looks like in practice: I enjoy boxing classes, and if you do too, I'm betting you agree with me on this: shadowboxing is a buzzkill. If you're putting the time and effort into a boxing routine, it's much more fun to wail on a punching bag like a psycho. So, even though Peloton now offers boxing classes, I'll occasionally drop by a Rumble studio in New York for some Adonis Creed cosplay.

Rumble charges $38 a class—and, again, I pay $44 a month for Peloton's all-access membership. See what I mean?

Verdict

This has been quite a rant, hasn't it? So, I'll keep the verdict simple. If you're ready and willing to make the Peloton suite your sole fitness provider, jack your cadence up and zoom ahead: Buy the bike, pay the full membership, enjoy the heck out of it. If I haven't made this clear: I've done exactly that. I've trained for a marathon on the Peloton app. It works.

If it means a little bit more to you to dole out your money elsewhere—on, say, a ClassPass membership, where you can drop in and out of classes and studios as you please? Unless you have an unlimited budget, that's your move.

Now, excuse me—I'm about to queue up Alex Toussaint's The Last Dance ride, which I've done more times than I'm ready to admit to you at this moment. Happy trails, folks.

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