It was 7.31 a.m. and I was late for my Notting Hill spin class. That meant the lights weren’t on when I entered the studio and scrambled to find my bike. Bleary-eyed, I noticed a man waving at me as I approached Bike 49. It was Rishi Sunak, on the bike next to mine. ‘I promise I booked this one,’ I said, so he didn’t think I was stalking him. The instructor started to shout motivational phrases at us and blast out Britney Spears and Dua Lipa. For the next 45 minutes, Rishi and I sweated it out side-by-side.

This week an LA TikToker had a similarly surreal experience when she rocked up at the Santa Barbara SoulCycle studio for an early morning Taylor Swift-themed ride, only to find it filled with security. In a video to her followers, she said she had ‘the biggest heart attack’ of her life, thinking the songstress herself had dropped by (given that she was in town for her tour). Instead, the bemused twentysomething explained that the VIP was the ‘British Prime Minister’.

When the news spread online, Westminster watchers were quick to criticise Sunak’s choice of holiday relaxation. A 7 a.m. spin class? Far better holidays have been had by Harold Wilson, smoking in the Scilly Isles, or Margaret Beckett in her caravan. Given my early-morning encounter with Sunak took place when Liz Truss was prime minister and he was on the back benches, it’s clear he likes to start the day with a ride – even when there is the option of a lie-in.

He’s not alone. Spinning – as the indoor cycling classes are known – has become the most popular group workout in the UK, beating pilates and yoga. The concept was born out of misfortune in the 1990s when the South African cyclist Jonathan ‘Johnny G’ Goldberg narrowly escaped death on a late-night ride as he prepared for a race. To avoid further injury, he opted instead for indoor cycling to music. He then launched a commercial spin bike and began to offer professional classes.

Sunak probably first encountered the workout during his Stanford days in the US. But the British have also developed a taste for spinning. When Jill Biden was in town for the coronation, she went spinning in Notting Hill with Akshata, Sunak’s wife. Classes vary but they tend to resemble a high-intensity cardiovascular workout crossed with a therapy session. During the pandemic, sales of Peloton – the at-home £1,345 exercise bike – soared, as well-heeled Brits (including Sunak) opted to join cycle classes online. But the Peloton boom in the UK has slowed as people have returned to the studio.

In a spin class, there is a hierarchy. The fittest members of the class are encouraged to sit at the front. It’s a competitive environment. There is one permanent secretary in my class who always takes a bike in the first row. If you sit there but can’t keep up, it’s noticed.

Not that any negativity is permitted. Instructors shout motivational messages such as ‘the only difference between you and Usain Bolt is Usain Bolt doesn’t give up’. As these modern spin doctors say: you don’t need therapy, just spinning.

The classes aren’t cheap. Sunak’s SoulCycle charges £26 per session. And there have been questions about how effective it is. Gwyneth Paltrow’s trainer sent the spin world into a spin when she claimed the exercise bulked up thighs. Classes tend to be full though. I’m a member of the spin cult – and happy to be along for the ride.