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Music

I Went to a Techno-Only Spin Class And Discovered the Joy of Being a Gym Thot

Treating my body like a temple instead of a trash receptacle with a soundtrack of Len Faki and Paula Temple.

All photos by the author

When you're a slave to the rave, your body is more of a trash receptacle than a temple. The allure of the 10PM to 4AM (or sunrise, if you're doing it right) lifestyle springs from the glamorous glow of pulsating dancefloors, barside chats with the city's most hedonistic who's who, and drug-fueled one night stands—all lending to the dreaded morning-after "what happened last night."

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I started DJing in my hometown of Philadelphia in 2011, and I saw this party lifestyle have its wear and tear. So after a few years of self-destruction I took up a new hobby: fitness. While most nights I would still be up until dawn, when I woke up, I would work out my regrets in the gym to a soundtrack of hardstyle by DJ Zany, Darren Styles' campy UK hardcore, and the thumping dark techno basslines of DJ Sven Schaller.

The gym became a place where, much like the club, I could test my physical limits and connect to music. I started taking spin classes twice a week, and the high I felt while cycling up an imaginary mountain, sweating so much it looked as if I'd jumped in a pool when I left the studio, was incomparable to anything else. This was my "Becky" moment. In time, I reached my fitness goals, my quads were bulging above my knees, my teacher discovered Diplo (no shade), and I wanted to start drinking beer again—so I decided to take a break.

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Two years later, I found myself living in Brooklyn among $12 fresh pressed juices, $40 individual class fees, and $200 a month gym memberships—numbers that don't quite fit into an underground techno DJ's salary. While the city had given me so much, it also made it hard to do the healthy things that balanced my renegade nightlife lifestyle. That is, until an event popped up on my Facebook feed called "Techno Spin Class." Hosted by Brooklyn dance music label Sweat Equity, the class was held last Saturday (April 21) at a swanky corporate gym called Equinox in SoHo. It promised participants a chance to work on their fitness to a "techno only" soundtrack of hard-hitting producers like Truss, Teleself, Paula Temple, and Len Faki. Best of all, it was free.

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The spin classes' spearheading organizers, Helen Wu, Webb Allen, and Natalie Robehmed, met through going out in New York and bonded over their love for both moody techno and cycling. They started going to spin classes together, and in an effort to bring the community together in an accessible way, the trio decided to throw a class with music that is rarely heard off the dancefloor. After compiling a playlist of some of their favorite tracks, Helen hit up her favorite class instructor in the city, Cheyenne, and here we are, embarking on the first official Sweat Equity Techno Spin Class.

I put myself together that day serving full face in my favorite techno activewear gear: Chromat bralette and warm up jacket, black Air Force 1s, and my Discwoman drawstring bag. In an effort to get the full Manhattanite yuppy experience I stop by Dean & Deluca for a bottle of water and black coffee. Upon arrival into the gym, I'm met with piercing glares from the smoothie bar employees for my Predator-inspired triple French braids and green lips. It sinks in that I am not in Brooklyn anymore.

I head upstairs to the main gym floor and am greeted by Frankie Decaiza Hutchinson of Discwoman fame. She'd never done a spin class before, and with my lack of physical upkeep, I feel a kinship that we were in this together. We sit side-by-side on stationary bikes while familiar faces from our usual clubbing haunts file in. Cheyenne walks in emanating exuberance, straps everyone's feet in, and gets on a platform at the front of the room to saddle up himself, looking pious as the stage's under-lighting sets his face aglow.

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After some light instruction on how to use the bikes and the format of the class, the music begins with the intensity of our first uphill sprint. The first track isn't techno at all—it is 160 BPM hardstyle. I hear Frankie say, "oh God." After ten minutes, I think to myself, "I have to stop, I can't go further." I try to focus on the music, but all I can hear is the blood rushing through my ears, and the wheezing tightness in my chest from years in warehouses thick with cigarette smoke.

Finally, Cheyenne tells us to take a moment to breathe. I desperately reach for my water, audibly mouth-breathing, and struggle to remain upright. To play it cool, I turn to Frankie and attempt to crack some kind of joke—but the best I can think of is, "I think someone farted." Once the break is over, in comes a familiar tune—Truss' "Brockweir." As the track's uneven synth line begins and the pulsating dark bass drum takes over, the struggle dissipates. The experience becomes a group test of physical endurance, listening to the same music we bond over through clouds of fog on dancefloor.

While the adrenaline and the intoxicating yet intelligent beat of Paula Temple's "Colonized" tries to convince me that this is a religious experience, when the class ends and the lights come on, it really isn't all too different as at the end of a rave. Everyone is breathless, with harsh red cheeks, drenched in sweat. I look down at my towel and it was covered in the layers on foundation that I was wearing from a photo shoot earlier in the day. The room emanates with a sense of pride and accomplishment.

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I check in with Frankie, who beat the rest of the class by clocking the most mileage. She is in sheer denial of her win, and wiping her face she groans, "I have to bike to Park Slope after this." My mind is more set on utilizing the luxury bath products and steamed towels.

Sweat Equity's play on corporate culture isn't all just in their name. Their December 2015 "Holiday Office Party" at Bossa Nova Civic Club in Brooklyn featured bad jokes near the water coolers and the burning dollar bills with every compilation tape purchase. Their events are advertised with jargon you're more likely to hear from your accountant than a record label. Even Techno Spin Class was marketed as chance to escape the drudgery of a 9-to-5 lifestyle, with the Facebook page description posing the questions: "Capitalism got you down? Does your sedentary office job leave you feeling inactive?"

But even with its characteristically tongue-in-cheek flavor, Techno Spin Class was ultimately an earnest attempt to build a music-loving community outside the club.

Dan Creahan, Sweat Equity's co-founder, explained that the event fits into a larger movement merging dance music and fitness culture. "There's been ongoing discussions about encouraging alternative perspectives on dance music culture through sober partying, healthy living, etc—and how to extend a culture of respect, mutual support and health outside the exclusivity of the club/rave proper," Creahan told me over email.

As the endorphins wear thin, my muscles set back to their wet noodle status, I'm comforted with the knowledge that there will be more of the same— organizers told me that hope to throw these free classes on a monthly basis. Which means that, finally, the bougie health lifestyle will be attainable for the people making the music being played in the fitness classes themselves.

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