Walking into Soul Cycle is like boarding a plane. You get there early, check in at the desk, take shoes off, put shoes on, and find your assigned seat that turns out to be shockingly uncomfortable every time.

What happens next can be summed up in 10 phases:

Phase 1: The passive aggressive pre-class warm-up.

The ten minutes before takeoff are the perfect time to scope out your fellow passengers, figure out where you fall among the competition. Everyone has their towels draped across their handlebars; they look like plane tray tables, but they don’t deceive me. I know there won’t be snacks on this ride.

Everyone is pedaling fast with eyes flickering from the mirror to each other, and there is always at least one man somewhere in the back who is already dripping sweat, turning a light gray t-shirt dark and repeatedly adjusting it near the shoulders like he’s Andy Roddick.

Phase 2: Instructor misattributes inspirational quote.

“My mom always said that 80% of success is showing up. Congratulations on just being here.”

I want to accept the praise, but deep down within my core, buried under a pile of bagels, lies the truth—that I wouldn’t be here if not for the 24-hour cancellation policy.

Phase 3: Why are the lights off?

I once posed this question to a friend.

“It pumps you up,” she replied. “It’s like a party.”

Ah, yes. A party. The age-old event for fun and games.

Here’s the thing.

I don’t go to parties. I go to bed. And so while some might associate darkness with dressing up and turning up, I associate the nighttime illusion with winding down and turning down the volume of Say Yes To The Dress so that I can keep watching but simultaneously try to fall asleep. So having the lights off during an activity for which I very much need to be awake is not ideal.

Phase 4: Why am I not sweating?

I sweat when I’m sitting in room temperature doing nothing. I sweat outside in the winter. Am I doing this wrong, or am I really, really good?

Phase 5: Can I get eight more towels?

There is a ten second span during which you go from being completely dry to being drenched in sweat. YES, I KNOW IT’S BECAUSE THEY MAKE THE ROOM HOT AND NOT BECAUSE I’M ACTUALLY WORKING HARD. WE KNOW, HATERS, WE KNOW.

Phase 6: Instructor poses hard questions.

“What brought you here today? What are your goals? You can ACHIEVE them. Here. Today. NOW.”

I ponder this throughout the class, but at no point do I feel that pedaling faster will help me get hired to produce the Waking Up With The Wests spinoff, North West Takes The Northwest. (According to Wikipedia, the Pacific Northwest contains several mountain ranges. Celebrity kids hiking, glamping…could be something there. Just a thought.)

Phase 7: Equestrian jargon distracts you from the pain.

“Out of your saddles, everyone!” Everyone stands on their stationary horses but then three seconds later, “Now, back in your saddles!” An indecisive instructor cannot decide if she wants us in or out of our saddles, changing her mind back and forth for minutes at a time. Up, down, up, down. And rather than someone speaking up and addressing this potentially paralyzing character flaw, we all politely do as she says. Textbook diffusion of responsibility. Textbook.

Phase 8: Crap. I forgot what number locker I put my stuff in.

I feel like it might have been in the 20s? Was I reaching up to stow my things or bending down? Ugh, it’s gonna take me forever to get out of here. Even longer until I’m eating.

Phase 9: What time is it?

I can’t see a clock. I scan the wrists of the “riders” beside me. No one has a watch on.

Doesn’t anybody wear a watch anymore? Are watches the new videocassettes?

No, Allie, I don’t think they are.

Phase 10: Class is over. Time to carbo-load like the champion athlete I am.

“Yes, hi. Can I place an order for takeout?” I hold the phone up to my sweaty ear as I begin at locker 21: star 3331 enter. Nope. Locker 22: star 3331 enter. Nope. (For those curious, those numbers are my home TV channels for Nickelodeon and Disney Channel. I’ll never forget those numbers.) “Two pizza pies, please.” I try all the 20s with no luck and then decide to start at locker 01. Star 3331 enter…

There I am. Stuck at the airport with lost luggage, exhausted, stiff legs, in desperate need of a shower, and most of all, eager to see my one love.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I say, before wiping dry the screen so I can press end.