I feel heavy.
I feel heavy on Thursday, Dec. 12, as I enter an indoor cycling studio in Sugar House, nervous about returning to group fitness for the first time in years.
I am heavy. I weigh 235 lbs, the most I have ever weighed.
I am fat.

A few years ago, I learned I had high blood pressure, a condition closely linked to obesity. Medications help to control it, but recently, I received a more humiliating diagnosis. My frequent naps, and terrifying episodes nodding off behind the wheel, have a common origin: Sleep apnea.

As I've become heavier, the passages in my neck have narrowed. I don't bring in enough oxygen at night, which causes me to wake roughly 30 times per hour, according to my recent sleep study. Yikes.

I have been prescribed a CPAP device. At night, I wear a mask that forces air into my narrow airways while I sleep. It works, but I avoid mirrors at bedtime to duck the dumpy Hannibal Lecter who stares back at me.

I am grateful I can correct the condition—but I also know that I am treating the symptoms of my obesity, not the cause.

And so, I decided this winter to shove my 53-year-old body into better shape. Over two months, I attended two dozen indoor cycling classes at four Salt Lake City gyms, trying out affordable introductory offers at each.

I felt more than a little ridiculous as I perched in the back row of these classes, trying to keep pace, clad in my skin-tight bike shorts while my red headband failed to restrain my sweaty mop of curly, greying hair.

I looked like an ancient, bloated Richard Simmons, next to the svelte, taut frames that surrounded me.

I have developed strong opinions about which facilities are superior (see sidebar on page 16). I met the owners of several gyms and learned that for these Salt Lake entrepreneurs, their work is more than just a job. In the process, I have learned about my health and about the myths that envelop our sense of what it means to be fit—and fat.

Home Workout
When I enter Chvrch (pronounced "church") Cycle on 900 South and West Temple, I immediately feel welcome. It's not only the warm greeting at the front desk, or the diverse group of riders and instructors, but because this cycling gym has been built in what was once a home.

Naomi Pacheco and Natasha Ponomaroff, the co-founders and co-owners of Chvrch, are a couple, engaged to be married. They embrace their diversity—"We are very loud about being queer- and Latina-owned," says Ponomaroff—because they believe in being role models.

"I saw an opportunity where I could be an example for younger minority girls in Utah," says Pacheco.

The two met, fittingly, in a cycling class. Pacheco—a Salt Lake City native who had a career as a dancer and choreographer in Southern California—was teaching at a different local studio. Ponomaroff, newly moved to Salt Lake for a tech job, took her class in 2019.

"It was hard to find a gym that I felt comfortable in," recalled Ponomaroff, "until I met Naomi and saw the work she was doing. And I fell in love."

Pacheco is a terrific instructor, one of the strongest I encountered. Good cycling teachers are encouraging and enthusiastic—but they aren't afraid to push, to urge you to add more resistance or to pedal harder.

They also choose good music, beyond the repetitive EDM that fills many studios.

The two women soon realized that they were a strong match for starting a business. Pacheco had experience teaching fitness, while Ponomaroff worked in marketing. When the pandemic hit, they had time not just to deepen their relationship but also to plan Chvrch.

One of Chvrch's innovations—headphones—grew out of the pandemic. In many gyms, I struggle to hear both the music and the instructor's commands. The two end up a soggy mix of loudness. But at Chvrch, I can raise and lower the volume as I see fit and I can always hear the instructor and the beat.

The headphones emerged when Pacheco began to teach outdoor classes during the pandemic. Her brother would help load their 19 stationary bicycles onto a trailer, and they would offer safe, outdoor classes at locations like the fountains at City Creek. With headphones, they could be portable, allowing riders to pedal without fear—yet still hear.

However, outdoor classes were a seasonal solution. And in 2021, the Chvrch founders began seeking indoor space. Then, something cosmic intervened: One day, having lunch in the Central Ninth neighborhood, they noticed a former home that had just come on the market.

The space felt—well—homey. They loved the location, the wooden floors and the natural light. And, given their commitment to social justice, equity and inclusion, they would be certain of their choice when they found out later about the home's connection to a sad chapter in Salt Lake City history.

The Martins, an African American family devastated by an act of racial violence, lived in that home for decades. Their son, David Martin, 18, was shot and killed in Liberty Park in 1980, along with his friend Ted Fields, 20, by a white supremacist named Joseph Paul Franklin.

Later, Pacheco and Ponomaroff would meet a niece of the family, who would tour the gym and point out the small touches of the Martins that remained, like the family's fireplace.

It is not uncommon in blue cities like Salt Lake to hear small business owners talk about their commitment to diversity and inclusion. However, Chvrch's founders say the numbers show they are making group fitness available to a broader clientele. It's not just rhetoric.

"Seventy percent of our riders have never taken a group exercise class before," says Ponomaroff. "They were afraid. They tried and didn't feel part of the club. Other studios preach about inclusivity, but you don't see it when you look around. You do at Chvrch."

Bells and Whistles
Denise Druce has been teaching exercise classes in Utah for nearly 45 years, starting with high impact aerobics in 1981.

"The only thing I had to learn from was my Jane Fonda VHS tape," she recalls "It was so brand new. There were just a handful of us."

Druce helped create step aerobics and then was one of the first instructors to lead cycling classes locally in the mid-1990s. Indoor cycling classes were born just a few years earlier, when a South African cyclist named Johnny G developed the program to offer a safe indoor venue for riders who wanted to train at night or when it was cold.

Druce became a certified trainer with Schwinn, which soon dominated an industry that came to be known as "spinning." That era of indoor cycling, she says, was meant to mimic the experience of riding outdoors.

Spin instructors would urge riders to sprint, to climb and to visualize themselves in a bike race.

For Schwinn, Druce said, indoor cycling was meant to complement riding outside. "We believed," she said, "If you don't do it out there, don't do it in here."

Druce was the first cycling instructor I ever had, at the now defunct 24 Hour Fitness in Sugar House. She was extraordinary—kind, funny and encouraging. I was so taken by her spirit and wisdom that I have been receiving—and reading—her newsletter about fitness and life for the past decade.

Indoor cycling classes have evolved significantly since my first class with Druce in the early 2010s. All four gyms where I took classes these recent months embrace several key innovations. Riders are encouraged, but not required, to do choreography while on the bike—in rhythm with the music's beat, riders change their grip position, move their hips back and forth, rotate their torsos, or do partial push-ups.

All four gyms also include a weightlifting portion. During one song, later in the workout, riders lift light weights—typically 3 to 10 pounds in each hand—while perched on their bikes. Keeping those curls and presses going for 3 or 4 minutes is challenging. It exhausts me more than any other part of the workout.

Druce supports any activity that gets people to move their bodies, but she's skeptical of the bells and whistles that accompany indoor cycling today.

"You have traded effectiveness for entertainment," she observes. "I'm a purist. Do yoga on a yoga mat. Do your core workout on the floor. Ride on a bike. Don't try to do it all at once."

Druce also worries that indoor cycling is becoming too complex. She has seen other fitness crazes burn out participants. "I saw the death of step aerobics," she said. "It got too fast and too complicated. I'm worried that cycling is doing the same thing."

But Richmond Tyrrell, who owns MCycle along with his wife Megan, thinks the choreography helps attract and retain new riders. "The whole concept is to try and make it fun, make it unique and fresh" says Tyrrell. "Let's take your mind off the exercise, versus grinding through a painful workout."

The Tyrrells—whose gym is on 400 South just off of Pioneer Park—credit the success of MCycle to the challenge of opening in 2019 just a few months before the pandemic.

"We survived by the skin of our teeth," says Richmond Tyrrell. "It made us tougher."

The couple rented bikes for people to use at home and taught classes online. It was nothing like they had envisioned, but they learned how to build a tight community. By the time they could welcome riders safely back into their studio, they knew exactly what they wanted to do.

Tyrrell, a former college football player, was at first skeptical about the fitness benefits of cycling classes. But he soon became an evangelist—and an instructor.

"I've never had a workout that complete in just 45 minutes," he said. "It's challenging every single time."

MCycle also focuses on the spiritual and motivational sides of exercise. Many of their instructors will offer their riders a personal anecdote or words of wisdom.

"Every one of our coaches are people who are choosing to grow, to put in the personal work," Tyrrell said. "They'll share what they're going through, some breakthroughs they have had. I've been in classes before where that can feel canned. Maybe I read that same quote on Instagram a week ago. We press our coaches to come from an authentic place."

I am a sucker for these nuggets—like many middle-aged men, I find myself blubbering these days at everything, from musical theatre to car commercials—and look forward to them each class.

In more than five years of running a cycling studio, the Tyrrells have seen the fruit of their emotional approach. "I've seen transformations," he relates. "And not just physical ones. People quit drinking or they leave a bad job or a bad relationship. This is more than just a basic workout."

Fat But Fit
After two months of taking indoor cycling classes two to three times a week, I feel better.

I don't think that I've lost more than a few pounds, but my frequently aching right knee and lower back are much looser, and I have more energy each day.

The classes are fun. I've grown to prefer the pre-dawn workouts, the satisfaction of pushing myself so hard before breakfast.

The workouts are difficult. Even though I skip much of the choreography—I am as coordinated as a giraffe on roller skates; I can't really dance on the floor with my feet, let alone on a bike while pedaling—I leave each class soaked with sweat, limber and energized.

I feel fit, even though I am still fat.

I am obese, according to the National Institutes of Health. My Body Mass Index is 31.2. To just be overweight—yay!—I would need to lose 10 or 12 pounds. For my BMI to be "normal weight," I would need to lose nearly 50.

Last month, I talked to one of the nation's leading experts on obesity, exercise and health. Dr. Samuel Klein is the director of the Center for Human Nutrition at Washington University in St. Louis.

The scientific literature includes a concept called "fat but fit." Here's what the research says: Regular aerobic exercise is the most important step a person can take to ward off cardiovascular diseases, like heart attacks and stroke.

In fact, it's better to be an overweight person who exercises than a thin person who does not. "People who are lean and unable to do much cardiovascular exercise are at pretty high risk," Klein said.

Such findings have led to at least a modest reconsidering of BMI, a metric that may have played an outsized role in evaluating human health. According to BMI, exceptionally fit athletes like Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson are considered obese.

"As with everything in modern medicine, BMI needs to be put in the context of common sense," Klein pointed out. "It's just one factor to consider during a clinical exam."

A good doctor will not only focus on how much you weigh but also on your family history and your habits, among other indicators.

But with all of that said, Klein emphasized, losing weight greatly improves health.

Obesity, he pointed out, is correlated with everything from diabetes to fatty liver diseases to high blood lipids to arthritis.

"If you lose weight, all those abnormalities are reversible," Klein said. "Weight loss is the foundation for preventing and treating obesity-related diseases."

That's not great news for me—I find losing weight has gotten harder as I age.

About 15 years ago, I lost more than 30 pounds over the course of a year or two by adopting a strict, low-carb diet. I slowly put the weight back on, and subsequent efforts to avoid beer, bread, potatoes, rice and pasta have not succeeded like they once did.

This is an accepted reality in the medical literature, known as "metabolic adaptation." Sadly, your body adapts to "defeat" your efforts to shrink it.

I hate my stupid, clever body.

As challenging as losing weight is, Klein said, the good news is that everyone can benefit from exercise. Everyone can take a walk, or ride a bike, or lift weights from their wheelchair, or maybe even afford inspiring, high-energy classes at their local cycling gym. And that exercise has enormous benefits.

"Many of our metabolic diseases are really exercise deficiency diseases," Klein noted. "It's an underlooked therapeutic need. What you're doing by exercising, even if your weight doesn't change, is markedly improving your health."

So, I'm fat. For now. But I can also be fit.

I will keep pedaling, keep lifting my weights, keep sweating, and keep hoping.

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Give It A Spin
The following local cycling facilities are listed in order of my preference. However, I recommend any of these, or others not mentioned in this article; it just depends on what you're looking for!—Matt Pacenza

Chvrch Cycle, 126 W 900 S,
chvrchcycle.com
Introductory Offer: Two weeks of unlimited classes for $80.
Pros: Open, airy studio with natural light; headphones that make it easier to hear a varied mix of music; a more diverse group of instructors and riders.
Cons: No showers available

MCycle, 355 W 400 S,
mcyclestudios.com
Introductory Offer: One week of unlimited classes for $30.
Pros: Large, airy studio with space between bikes; Music is diverse and not as loud as some studios. Spacious private showers.
Cons: Some classes are lower energy with relatively few riders

Torrent Cycle, three locations (Sugar House, Downtown and South Jordan),
torrentcycle.com
Introductory Offer: Two weeks of unlimited classes for $59.
Pros: Largest schedule of classes. Sweet touches, like candles and themed classes. Spacious private showers.
Cons: Loud EDM music (earplugs available, thank God). Bikes are tightly grouped in a smaller studio.

Rideologie, 1155 Wilmington Avenue unit 200,
rideologie.com
Introductory Offer: One week of unlimited classes for $20.
Pros: Quieter, more varied music. Spacious private showers.
Cons: Bikes are tightly grouped in a smaller studio.

Lastly
If you prefer to work out from home, please check out the Patreon channel of Utah fitness veteran Denise Druce, who offers at-home classes in cycling, yoga, fitness, and meditation for as little as $10 a month. You can find her at patreon.com/denisedruce