The problem with Peloton bikes
It feels good to say that you own a Peloton bike. After months of peering into those enigmatic Apple-style Peloton stores which came into being unsurprisingly in the more affluent areas of London (Knightsbridge, Marylebone and Oxford Street), my wife and I decided to bite the bullet and buy into the Peloton dream. Like many lockdown fitness devotees, a cancellation of our Central London gym memberships unlocked some disposable income which meant we could afford it. Only just though. When delivery day finally came, I realised just how heavy the bloody thing is. Peloton had sent what looked like its two oldest employees to haul it up the stairs and into our second bedroom. One looked 70 and the other about 90.
