Proud: A Peloton Fan Fiction
Marika arrived at the windowless, stainless steel studio 48 minutes and 20 seconds before air time. That was three minutes and twenty seconds earlier than her call time. For three minutes and twenty seconds, she stood on the roof and smoked a cigarette. Smoking was forbidden in her contract, but that would be the least of anyone's worries.
Back in the studio, she went to the small yet clean dressing room to put on her pre-approved Peloton gear. A leopard top and dusty rose leggings. They fit flawlessly, of course. The company had taken a full-motion capture of her body to make the perfect outfit.
In the makeup chair, Marika told Sandy, the makeup artist, “make it slutty, but classy slutty,” which she told her every time; it was their running joke. Sandy didn’t laugh every time. And Sandy never made it slutty, the makeup rules were clear: Highlight, but it must be waterproof, sweatproof, and look good on camera.
Eighteen minutes and thirty seconds before air time, Marika started her warmups. She planked, she trusted, she clamped, she posed, she burned. Then she went over her routine for the class. It had to be perfect. One mistake and the plan would be ruined. She would be ruined; the overseers would never let her live.
Two minutes to airtime, they did a quick soundcheck, and Sandy came over to thrust a brush over her face a few times. Marika pulled on her long braid and waited.
“What’s up, Peloton? It’s your friend Marika. We’re here for hip hop barre pilates stretch bootcamp. You’ll need two sets of weights, resistance bands, a chair, a stool, a neck brace, a trapeze, and a jump rope. And, of course, a hydration station. Now, if you don’t have any of that equipment, I’ll show you modifications. You know your body best!
The countdown clock started to blink fast. That meant the class had started. At home, the viewers’ bar across the top of their screen started. There was no going back now. Marika had made her decision. She was in the Peloton Family. One earth, one Peloton. One....moment.
“Ok, we’ll have a five-minute warmup. Let’s start with some lunges.” Three...two...one. Another minute closer. She switched to planks. Planks are a strategic move; she didn’t need to look at the camera. Because what came next would determine her fate.
“We’re going to go into leg lifts. Do not lock your knees. Yes, like that. I’m so proud of you.” Upon hearing proud. The signal word, a man in Kenosha, Wisconsin, lit a fuse in a shopping mall. The fire would spread slowly at first, and the entire mall would be in flames long after Marika’s 30-minute class (unless you did stacked classes.)
Marika moved to stretch. “Start in a child’s pose. If it’s burning, it’s working. It’s not about getting bigger or smaller. It's about balance. It’s not about getting smaller or getting bigger. It’s about getting stronger. You should be proud of the body you have now. It’s the only one you have.” In Saginaw, California, a woman completed the final command in her program that immediately opened all doors and barriers in the state prison. The guards called for help on the radio just as Marika was in a full parallel leg stance. “Stay with me,” she said. “You can do this.”
Taking her own advice, Marika moved onto the mat, leading them in a leg lift. As the workout timeline stretched over the top of the video, a person in Tokyo cut the breaks on the car of the busiest rush hour train. Marika moved on her side and did a clamshell stretch. A boy in Toronto called the SWAT team and told them someone had a gun in the Natural History Museum.
Marika had developed a calm state, both from the high of her exercise and the realization that she could not go back from the plan. Only a few more phrases. “When I start to feel like giving up, I try to distract my mind with memories, like my grandma’s cooking. She made the best lemon cake. She’s proud of me and proud of you. “
A sense of calmness overcame Mariks, knowing that she was almost done and the mission was complete. “We’ll close with a core session.” On her ninth barre curl, she told the camera, “Your obliques may be burning, but they are proud that you decided to use them today.” The Trojan horse virus activated in the central energy grid within minutes, and the entirety of North America went dark, including the power in the minimally designed studio. The lights went out. The music cut off. Although the cameras stopped filming, Marika grinned at the camera, made a prayer sign with her hands, bowed, and said, “I’m proud of you for being with me today. Be sure to watch my other classes on demand.”