Dear Peloton:
I know this is pretty wimpy, but I’m breaking up with you via blog post.
It’s not you, it’s me.
Actually, it’s you.
I’m tired of you and your bullshit. You keep barking at me, telling me how great I can be, how I just need to stick with you and “stay with the program”—whatever the fuck that means. But, truly, you’re exhausting. And repetitive. Sooooo repetitive. When I’m with you every day feels exactly the same. It’s Groundhog’s Day. I start off by turning you on and getting all hot and sweaty, but I’m always the one putting in the work. You just sit there. Barking at me and thinking I’m not measuring up. It seems like you’re always comparing me to others. Like you keep a list or something.
You’re gonna hate me for saying this, but I miss Jim. A lot. Yeah, he was dirty. And, God, his bathroom is disgusting. But he never judged me. When I showed up at his place, he was happy to see me. If I wanted a day off, he was cool with that, too. There was never an ounce of guilt. Jim was chill. Plus, he has a pool. You don’t have a pool.
To be blunt, Peloton, you’re not chill. You’re obnoxious, and your standards are far too high.
Dating you seemed like a good idea at the time. But I think we’re done.
It’s not you, it’s me.
No, scratch that.
It’s you.
Don’t call me.
— Jeff
