Peloton Quotes

I love you, Nora,” he says when we pull apart a few inches to breathe. “I think I love everything about you.” “Even my Peloton?” I ask. “Great piece of equipment,” he says. “The fact that I check my email after work hours?” “Just makes it easier to share Bigfoot erotica without having to walk across the room,” he says. “Sometimes I wear very impractical shoes,” I add. “Nothing impractical about looking hot,” he says. “And what about my bloodlust?” His eyes go heavy as he smiles. “That,” he says, “might be my favorite thing. Be my shark, Stephens.” “Already was,” I say. “Always have been.” “I love you,” he says again. “I love you too.” I don’t have to force it past a knot or through the vise of a tight throat. It’s simply the truth, and it breathes out of me, a wisp of smoke, a sigh, another floating blossom on a current carrying billions of them. “I know,” he says. “I can read you like a book.

They are the fuga bidone, Christopher. They broke away. They’re too far ahead to reel in,” Luca whispered, his voice breaking into the wind that licked the mountain top. “We are the peloton.” “We’ll see them again at the finish line.

Stress exists for a reason: it’s a mental state informing us that something is wrong. And yet we’re constantly told this is something we should bury away. When women furiously pedal away on a Peloton to “silence their mind,” you begin to ask: Why should we silence our mind?

The peloton was Facebook on wheels-and during this period, information was flying.

The great triumph of the "best life now" paradigm was that it summarized the promises of an entire American wellness industry: everything is possible if you only believe. You can find this confident message everywhere from megachurches to Burning Man. It's expressed in the advertising around Peloton bikes and deluxe yoga retreats. Good vibes are big business.

je n'ai jamais contemplé l'inceste sous cette terrible lueur de caveau et de damnation éternelle qu'une fausse morale s'est délibérément appliquée à jeter sur une forme d'exubérance sexuelle qui, pour moi, n'occupe qu'une place extrêmement modeste dans l'échelle monumentale de nos dégradations. Toutes les frénésies de l'inceste me paraissent infiniment plus acceptables que celles d'Hiroshima, de Buchenwald, des pelotons d'exécution, de la terreur et de la torture policières, mille fois plus aimables que les leucémies et autres belles conséquences génétiques probables des efforts de nos savants. Personne ne me fera jamais voir dans le comportement sexuel des êtres le critère du bien et du mal. La funeste physionomie d'un certain physicien illustre recommandant au monde civilisé de poursuivre les explosions nucléaires m'est incomparablement plus odieuse que l'idée d'un fils couchant avec sa mère. A côté des aberrations intellectuelles, scientifiques, idéologiques de notre siècle, toutes celles de la sexualité éveillent dans mon coeur les plus tendres pardons. Une fille qui se fait payer pour ouvrir ses cuisses au peuple me paraît une soeur de charité et une honnête dispensatrice de bon pain lorsqu'on compare sa modeste vénalité à la prostitution des savants prêtant leurs cerveaux à l'élaboration de l'empoisonnement génétique et de la terreur atomique. A côté de la perversion de l'âme, de l'esprit et de l'idéal à laquelle se livrent ces traîtres à l'espèce, nos élucubrations sexuelles, vénales ou non, incestueuses ou non, prennent, sur les trois humbles sphincters dont dispose notre anatomie, toute l'innocence angélique d'un sourire d'enfant. (La promesse de l'aube, ch. X)

Obviously, the best way to remount a chain is to buy an entirely new, fully assembled bike in your favorite color. This is a foolproof method, but time-consuming and expensive.

Y en todas las casas, mujeres medio muertas, tan pálidas como si ya hubieran empezado a morirse, tan flacas como si el dolor las estuviera consumiendo, tan perdidas en su propia habitación como si ya no supieran quiénes eran, dónde vivían, cuál era su nombre, su sitio en aquella ciudad negra de lutos, sorda por el interminable estrépito de los pelotones, ciega de tanto cerrar los ojos a los fusilamientos de cada madrugada, hedionda de cadáveres a medio pudrir, y más mujeres, más madres, más niños mirándolo todo, y los caramelos que tenían en las manos, con unos ojos enormes de miedo y de sorpresa que presentían ya el resto de sus vidas

Her heart is beating so fast she doesn’t need the Peloton, but she powers out a forty-five-minute HIIT and Hills ride with Tunde anyway.

The cottage has a Peloton, an espresso machine, and a bottle of tequila on the kitchen table just for you.

Or I can discuss laser face peels with some lady who thinks Pelotons are for the nouveaux riches.” I can’t help but

Self is the new god, the new spiritual authority, the new morality. But this puts a crushing weight on the self—one it was never designed to bear. It must discover itself. Become itself. Stay true to itself. Justify itself. Make itself happy. Perform and defend its fragile identity. As my Peloton instructor would say, “Validate your greatness.” But what about the many days when we’re not all that great? The pressure is exhausting. Cue the stats on burnout, anxiety, and mental health.

RICE CAKES These are now a staple for the whole pro peloton. They are super-easy to make and can provide a tasty snack for kids as well. I have used these in other endurance sports, including Olympic sailing. Servings 20 Calories per serving: 157 kcal Carbohydrate per serving: 23 g Fat per serving: 6 g Protein per serving: 3 g INGREDIENTS 500 g white short-grain rice 1 l water 2 tbsp coconut oil 2 tbsp sugar (white or brown) 1 tsp vanilla extract 300 g cream cheese (or 200 g creamed coconut) METHOD 1. In a rice cooker, cook the rice with the water, sugar, vanilla and coconut oil. If you are not using a rice cooker, follow the instructions on the rice packet. 2. When cooked, mix in the cream cheese. For a non-dairy alternative, substitute 200 g of creamed coconut.

Although it hurt Whitney to admit it, her manager was younger than her, thinner than her, and prettier than her. Plus, she had that healthy, well-rested glow of a woman who chose Peloton workouts and green juice over having

Blessed are the meek for early in the race they shall inherit the front of the peloton.

I would argue that in the scientific rush forward, much of the nuance of bike racing has been lost. The subtleties of pack riding, bike handling, and butt kicking have been usurped by wattage, functional threshold power, and kilojoules.

where the pleasure subsists in the simple fact that you are doing it, that you can do it, that the challenge you never set yourself before has presented itself whereat the joy of embracing it, meeting it and surmounting it is supreme.

Our virtues are, for the most part, no more than vices in disguise.’ One of his maxims addresses one of the major themes of this book: the fear of success. ‘It takes far greater inner strength to endure good fortune than bad.

les dices que los rascacielos, fábricas, radios, aviones son producto de la fe y de la intuición mística, mientras que las hambrunas, los campos de concentración y los pelotones de ejecución son productos de una forma de vivir razonable;

Vous n'avez jamais vu fusiller un homme? Non, bien sûr, cela se fait généralement sur invitation et le public est choisi d'avance. Le résultat est que vous en êtes resté aux estampes et aux livres. Un bandeau, un poteau, et au loin quelques soldats. Eh bien, non! Savez-vous que le peloton des fusilleurs se place au contraire à un mètre cinquante du condamné? Savez-vous que si le condamné faisait deux pas en avant, il heurterait les fusils avec sa poitrine? Savez-vous qu'à cette courte distance, les fusilleurs concentrent leur tir sur la région du cœur et qu'à eux tous, avec leurs grosses balles, ils y font un trou où l'on pourrait mettre le poing? Non, vous ne le savez pas parce que ce sont là des détails dont on ne parle pas. Le sommeil des hommes est plus sacré que la vie pour les pestiférés. On ne doit pas empêcher les braves gens de dormir. Il y faudrait du mauvais goût, et le goût consiste à ne pas insister, tout le monde sait ça. Mais moi, je n'ai pas bien dormi depuis ce temps-là. Le mauvais goût m'est resté dans la bouche et je n'ai pas cessé d'insister, c'est-à-dire d'y penser.

... I used to think nothing was out of my control. If I studied more, worked harder, and hit the gym like a Peloton instructor, every goal was within reach. And now I think we're all pinballs pinging around at random, hoping that when we collid with something, it's good.

... I used to think nothing was out of my control. If I studied more, worked harder, and hit the gym like a Peloton instructor, every goal was within reach. And now I think we're all pinballs pinging around at random, hoping that when we collide with something, it's good.

... I used to think nothing was out of my control. If I studied more, worked harder, and hit the gym like a Peloton instructor, every goal was within reach.

But the flock of Silicon Valley unicorns had grown so large that Benioff himself had become nervous. The kind of rapid expansion that venture capital made possible wasn’t sustainable without discipline. In the middle of the decade, Benioff had issued a warning: “There’s going to be a lot of dead unicorns.” Neumann had begun pitching WeWork as a new breed of SaaS business: “space as a service.” The idea was that companies of all sizes would no longer handle their own real estate portfolios but would instead turn over the management of their physical space to WeWork, transforming the company into something like a real estate cloud—a “platform.” This was a goal shared by every ambitious start-up of the decade, no matter how specious the claim. Facebook, Uber, and Airbnb identified as platforms, as did Beyond Meat, the pea-protein burger maker (“plant-based-product platforms”); Peloton, the indoor exercise bike company (“the largest interactive fitness platform in the world”); and Casper, the mattress company (a “platform built for better sleep”). It was no longer good enough for companies to simply be what they were.

Feeling good is a mindset. It boils down to this simple phrase, which was drilled into me by my coworker Christine D’Ercole when I joined Peloton: I am, I can, I will, I do. Feeling good requires discipline. It requires execution, repetition, and focus. It requires confidence, a confidence that comes from the inside and not from “likes” on Instagram and Facebook.

all of it perfect. Not for someone else, maybe, but for me. “I move back to New York,” he says. “I get another editing job, or maybe take up agenting, or try writing again. You work your way up at Loggia, and we’re both busy all the time, and down in Sunshine Falls, Libby runs the local business she saved, and my parents spoil your nieces like the grandkids they so desperately want, and Brendan probably doesn’t get much better at fishing, but he gets to relax and even take paid vacations with your sister and their kids. And you and I—we go out to dinner. “Wherever you want, whenever you want. We have a lot of fun being city people, and we’re happy. You let me love you as much as I know I can, for as long as I know I can, and you have it fucking all. That’s it. That’s the best I could come up with, and I really fucking hope you say—” I kiss him then, like there isn’t someone reading one of the Bridgerton novels five feet away, like we’ve just found each other on a deserted island after months apart. My hands in his hair, my tongue catching on his teeth, his palms sliding around behind me and squeezing me to him in the most thoroughly public groping we’ve managed yet. “I love you, Nora,” he says when we pull apart a few inches to breathe. “I think I love everything about you.” “Even my Peloton?” I ask. “Great piece of equipment,” he says. “The fact that I check my email after work hours?” “Just makes it easier to share Bigfoot erotica without having to walk across the room,” he says. “Sometimes I wear very impractical shoes,” I add. “Nothing impractical about looking hot,” he says. “And what about my bloodlust?” His eyes go heavy as he smiles. “That,” he says, “might be my favorite thing. Be my shark, Stephens.” “Already was,” I say. “Always have been.” “I love you,” he says again. “I love you too.” I don’t have to force it past a knot or through the vise of a tight throat. It’s simply the truth, and it breathes out of me, a wisp of smoke, a sigh, another floating blossom on a current carrying billions of them. “I know,” he says. “I can read you like a book.” EPILOGUE SIX MONTHS LATER THERE ARE BALLOONS in the window, a chalkboard sign out front.

Peloton with a large monitor and spin shoes hanging on the back. Yoga mat. Weights. It all screams of an aging Olympian going soft around the middle, losing his edge, and worrying about it. This fills me with a sadistic spurt of pleasure.

It takes a special kind of person to want to be a professional cyclist. If you have another opportunity, such as university, you really have to think long and hard about it, because unless you’re very talented, you’re not going to make a fortune racing bikes.

If you want to know the truth about the latest equipment, don’t ask a pro. At least not one that’s speaking on the record. We’re told what to use and we have to be positive about it, even when it sucks. It’s been that way since the beginning of the sport. And while I’ve been in the game for a long time now, it is still surprising to see how bad some gear can be. I don’t know how the manufacturers stay in business.

To me, cycling can be glorious and it can be grubby, but quite often, it’s neither. It’s just pedalling for hours and hours for relatively little in return.

Happiness and fulfillment come from focus, discipline, and self-control. It may be hard to believe when you’re facing an all-you-can-eat buffet, the prospect of making a quick buck, or the lazy lure of sleeping in versus getting on the Peloton, but studies show that people with self-discipline are happier. Why? Because with discipline and self-control we actually accomplish more of the goals we truly care about.

My pang of homesickness for my mother rapidly shape-shifts into longing for my Peloton. I am a parody of myself.