Soul Cycle Mafia

You’ll know them when you see them. They emerge from the studio sweating, their long puffer coats almost covering the exposed skin below their black athletic pants and above their short Ugg boots. They pull their aluminum water bottles from the tell-tale silver tote-bags bearing the Soul Cycle logo and take long drinks.

Then they descend upon the Starbucks on the far corner to bitch about their kids’ schools and nannies and husbands and contractors. Their sit-downs last about an hour as they sip coffee and rehash their spin classes and the colds their children got last week. To complain about the unfair teachers at the private schools who pull their kids down, and the nannies who never do anything the right way.

I listen to them as Brady eats his chocolate cookies (the horror!) and try to imagine my life like that. I picture their apartments with a room for each child and the checks they write to the best schools without a second thought.

Who knows what their lives are really like. They could be just like me.  They could be cold-hearted bitches. They could be loving mothers and devoted wives and run their own businesses. I only hear snippets of their conversations post-spin. I really know nothing about them, but my imagination gets me jealous and self-righteous, things I hate to feel. I do wish I had the time for a spin class though, even if it is at the lowly regular gym.

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