I Tried 'Psycle,' the UK's Newest Fitness Fad, to See if It Would Heal My Soul

If the US is a world-leader in anything, it's weird, semi-spiritual cults and bizarre exercise fads. From Scientology to CrossFit, America has given millions of time-rich people ways to fill up their days. Little wonder, then, that the two would eventually align in SoulCycle, a phenomenon that, as of 2014, had 440,000 active users across the US.

SoulCycle is basically indoor cycling in a dark studio with a decent sound rig pumping out music, while a trainer shouts the sorts of blandly motivational things your mom might post to Facebook: "Be the you you've always imagined!" or "Scream with positive energy!"—that kind of thing. According to its website: "At SoulCycle, we believe that fitness can be joyful. We climb, we jog, we sprint, we dance, we set our intention, and we break through boundaries. The best part? We do it together, as a community."

It "doesn't just change bodies, it changes lives."

While SoulCycle is yet to launch in the UK, there are now a number of similar companies that fill the gap. Psycle—a portmanteau of cycle and "psyche," Greek for soul or spirit—is one of them.

The first UK outpost is around the corner from the BBC's Broadcasting House in central London. It advertises itself as a "high-intensity, low-impact, head-to-toe workout" to a playlist "filled with positivity and emotion."

According to the website, you can pre-book online for a session of 45, 60, or 90 minutes spent half in the dark, with neon lights flashing and EDM, R&B, and hip-hop blaring. If your psyche isn't lifted by that experience, you can enjoy foods from the Energy Kitchen, which—the day I checked—was hosting a board of protein balls alongside smoothies, which contain spirulina, Himalayan sea salt, chia, lucuma, hemp protein, and the rest. The Energy Kitchen, so the website says, can "provide your body with inspiring, nutrient-rich foods that fuel you with energy."

In the interests of sedating my id, I decided to give Psycle a go.

In the lobby, a place so bright and anonymous it could host stalls selling duty-free Toblerone or vape paraphernalia, I was handed a pair of spinning shoes (cleats that lock in with the pedals of the exercise bike), before heading to the changing room. After chucking my stuff into the digitally-sealing lockers, I turned left to be met, at close-range, by a stranger's boobs. This offered a clue as to the gender balance of the class; the workforce of the area is overwhelmingly male, yet of the 40-strong class, only three participants weren't female.

Our instructor, Kevin, whose online profile described him as "radiant with positivity," was a blond man laden with dense bulbous muscle. His podium had a mini mixing desk, a bike, and a headset so that he could switch up the songs and bark words of encouragement, while demonstrating the exercises. He was a triple Venn diagram of a man: an evangelist, personal trainer, and DJ.

As we cycled while standing, doing what can best be described as an upper-body box step, standing up with only each index finger resting on the handlebars, "tapping back" our bums teasingly close to the saddle, Kevin hopped off his podium to stalk the room, crouching to yell words of encouragement: "Do it, yeah! Push this one!" He advised us to "get in the zone, make this bit about your personal goals" and to "really take this drop and ride it hard."

We wound down with Beyoncé's "Halo," and stretches were done to The xx's "Loud Places." Kevin stood by the door, arm raised to give us all a high-five as we left. My feet, perhaps too small in the cleats, had gripped onto the pedals like ossified cashews, and my thighs had begun to feel like leaden tapioca, swimming around and dragging down on my bones. I wondered then if this high-intensity exercise can really improve your soul?

Kevin didn't want to chat with me afterwards (I was very sweaty), but over email, Becky, another Psycle trainer, explained: "It's important that everyone goes at their own pace, so we also offer modifications for anyone who is finding it difficult."

As for the lift to my soul, she didn't get very specific, sticking closely to the brand guidelines: "Pscyle is everything I believe in: healthy positive vibes and putting the fun in to exercise," she said. "The focus on rhythm and movement distracts you from the hard work, but keeps it fun and engaging. Taking time out for you and having a personal intention in class can be just what you need, especially in fast and busy London!"

However, besides the high-five, not much of the class felt all that fun or engaging. As for my personal intention, I'm not sure the repeated internal mantra of "don't puke"—drowned out by the thundering 128bpm beats—was the best way I could appeal to my psyche.

There's no doubt that exercise can make you happy, but I wondered if Becky, Kevin, or any of the other trainers had any special way of speaking to our psyche? What help, if any, can nutritional advisors and personal trainers offer to our inner spirit? Are classes like Psycle and SoulCycle really as spiritually beneficial as they make out?

Alexandra Green, a choreographer and movement coach who has worked with Vaults, Slaves, Kwabs, and Jess Glynne, said: "Exercise in whatever form is good for the soul, and repetition—of mantras, of exercises—has meditative qualities, and can be great for the soul. But on an anatomical level, we are born with specific muscle fibers that are better at doing certain things; it's important to match up the exercise to what you're physically capable of managing."

That said, the whole notion of spending a day in the office then rattling down a lift to go do exercise in a basement studio puts Green off Psycle and its cohorts: "We aren't built to sit at a desk, go to a fridge, cook dinner, and watch television," she said. "We are built to walk, run, hunt, squat. We are built to move—our feet can handle something like seven times our body weight, and we aren't fulfilling that any more."

As a result, the exercise we do occasionally is literally driven underground, and that can damage not only our bodies, but our souls in the process. "I think exercising in darkness is such a weird fad," Green said. "It encourages people to shut down and become insular, which seems pretty warped to me."

Physiotherapist and personal trainer Kim Saha, who runs her own high intensity fitness training classes, doesn't understand the dark element either: "Darkness does not spell exercise to me," she said. "There seems to be some kind of mismatch between [Psycle's] website and the experience. Or perhaps even a lack of authenticity. Cycling on a rooftop may feel more fitting to the ethos."

Four days after my 45-minute session, my soul certainly became stronger, but only because my body had become so stubbornly weak. Clearly, a sudden and intense bout of exercise had not agreed with me. At night, I was forced to waddle slowly along even the most frightening of streets. I discovered who my real friends were when I cancelled a night out and so few of them truly understood my actual, physical pain. My soul has definitely changed from cycling, but I'm not sure for the better.

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