I Did Solidcore for a Year and Here’s What Happened

Last December, I did what every curious fitness girlie eventually does—I bought an annual Solidcore membership. Four classes a month for $99. At the time, I was strength training two to three days a week and wanted to add this style of resistance training to my routine with one clear goal: to keep getting stronger. I was curious what would happen if I committed to one Solidcore class every week for an entire year. Could I build visible abs during a phase of life when losing body fat and gaining muscle was starting to feel a lot harder? (Aging can be a real bitch.)

Spoiler alert: I got the abs. But was it worth it? Did I enjoy the process? And did I even stick with it? That’s a different story. And I’m here to share all of it—the good, the bad, and the not-so-pretty side of the workout everyone seemed to be talking about in 2025.

When I signed up for Solidcore last year, it was quite literally the only megaformer workout available in the area. (Quick note: I will never call this Pilates—because it isn’t. The machine may resemble a reformer, but it is not a Pilates reformer.) At the time, the Bryn Mawr Solidcore studio had the highest utilization rate of any Solidcore location in the country. In 2024, classes were packed from 4:30 a.m. to 9:20 p.m., five days a week, and 6 a.m. to 8 pm on the weekends, with only 10 minutes in between each class. Even the waitlists filled within hours of the schedule being released. That level of demand didn’t happen by accident. I’d chalk it up to a perfect storm: a large college population, zero local competition for this style of high-intensity workout, and—let’s be honest—Solidcore was (and still is) having a major moment. The workout is trendy, buzzy, and everyone wants in.

The lore around Solidcore is very real. A year ago, it felt like everyone was talking about it. And as a self-proclaimed “fitness finder,” I decided it was my responsibility to commit to Solidcore for a meaningful stretch of time and actually weigh in—on both the results and the experience. So I signed up for the minimum membership, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I woke up at 3 a.m. the morning the schedule dropped just to book my first month of classes. Looking back, that level of dedication was a little unhinged—but if I didn’t snag classes that fit my schedule, I’d essentially be throwing money away every month. And no, I was not about to drive into the city for a Solidcore class. At the time, the next closest location was Rittenhouse, which wasn’t experiencing nearly the same level of chaos as Bryn Mawr.

So that first month, I woke up in the middle of the night just to secure a spot in a workout class. Silly, I know. By the soft glow of my phone, I quietly booked the four January classes I wanted—careful not to wake my sleeping husband, who absolutely would’ve had questions about what I was doing at 3 a.m. Mission accomplished, I placed my phone back on the nightstand, smiled at my small victory, and drifted back to sleep. I was officially ready to kick off the new year at Solidcore.

Not so fast.

It was the holidays, and I was away celebrating with family when I opened the Solidcore app and saw zero classes booked on my account. Zero. For a brief moment, I genuinely wondered if I had dreamed the whole 3 a.m. sign-up victory. I refreshed the app. Still nothing. I checked the Bryn Mawr schedule, only to find that every single class was completely full. Of course. And just like that, I was exactly where I didn’t want to be: paying for a membership with no actual way to get into a class. To say I was annoyed would be an understatement. Still, I was on vacation with my family and trying hard not to let a dumb fitness class mishap ruin the holiday spirit.

Luckily—for me and honestly for everyone on the Main Line—the Bryn Mawr studio was run by an incredible manager. She was one of the kindest, hardest-working people in the business, and she made herself available over the holidays to help untangle what was, quite frankly, a ridiculous situation. Without her stepping in, I would’ve gotten nowhere. When you’re dealing with a corporation like Solidcore, emailing customer support means waiting up to four business days for a response—if you get one at all. (I’m still currently waiting to hear back about canceling my membership, but that’s a story for another day.)

Miraculously, the manager was able to squeeze me into a few January classes that actually worked with my schedule. And while I won’t rehash every detail, this same issue continued for the first three months of my membership. I’d wake up in the middle of the night, book my classes, and then—one or two days later—every single one would be cancelled. It honestly felt like someone was playing a cruel fitness prank on me. I still suspect someone was accessing my account and canceling my classes, but we never figured out what caused the “glitch.” This was far from an ideal way to start a relationship with a studio.

But thanks to that angel of a manager, I got into a few classes each month—and I started to actually enjoy them… well, sort of. Let me be clear: these workouts were hard as hell. I was cursing through almost every exercise, secretly counting down the minutes until class was over. And for someone who genuinely loves working out and thrives in a group class, that was a new feeling. But the results didn’t lie. I was getting stronger, the exercises were starting to feel more doable, and I wasn’t needing as many breaks or modifications. And those abs? Oh, they were showing up.

By April, the scheduling issues with my account finally settled, and I found a few favorite instructors at Bryn Mawr whose classes I tried to schedule as often as possible. And Solidcore was now a solid part of my weekly routine.

Around this time, news broke that the Main Line was getting another Solidcore studio— in Newtown Square, which was closer to my house and more convenient. I also figured that with a second location (and more reformers), I wouldn’t have to wake up in the middle of the night to snag a class anymore. And I was right. Once I switched over to the Newtown Square studio, the frantic race to book classes was officially over for me. Finally, a little sanity in my Solidcore life.

But it was also around this time that I started to dread going to Solidcore. And let me be clear—I never dread a workout class. This was new territory for me, and it didn’t feel right. I had an annual membership I was paying for, so I went, but I didn’t want to. That alone was enough to make me pause and figure out why I suddenly wasn’t loving the experience. And here’s what I concluded:

Solidcore felt more like a business than a community. I felt like a number, not a member. No one knew me—no matter how many times I walked through the door. And many of the instructors (with some exceptions) were clearly following a script. Their repetitive cues and forced cheers really got under my skin while I was holding a painful plank. Calling out names felt staged—like they were ticking boxes on an iPad rather than genuinely acknowledging anyone in the room. It was impersonal, and it showed.

I don’t blame the instructors—they’re just doing what they were trained to do. It takes courage to lead a room like that, and some people are naturally better at it than others (I know I’d suck at it, which is why I never became an instructor). But a lot of the instructors at this new studio were brand new to teaching fitness entirely, and it showed. I found them to be riding the Solidcore trend wave just as much as the members.

On top of that, I was bored. I love a true megaformer workout—there’s nothing else like it—but Solidcore only uses a small set of exercises on the machines. When instructors stick strictly to the script (especially newer ones), the classes start to feel repetitive week after week. If you’ve taken a Lagree or other megaformer class, you know the possibilities are endless when the instructor has freedom to design the class. At Solidcore, I could predict—and sometimes dread—the next move. And let’s be honest, anticipation of that kind is not exactly motivating.

With so many studios out there, I didn’t want to keep going to a class I was no longer enjoying. So I put my Solidcore membership on hold and shifted my focus to other things—like Hyrox, which, you probably know, was really exciting me at the time. But when my Hyrox race ended, I didn’t return to Solidcore.

I’m still hoping to cancel my Solidcore membership, but as I mentioned earlier, no one is getting back to me—and my one advocate at the company is no longer there. Ironically, she’s now in a leadership role at another megaformer brand that so far feels way more personal, more engaging, and seems to have all the qualities I found lacking at Solidcore. (So I’ll be at her new studio holding a plank in 2026)

Solidcore is undeniably a corporation, and in my experience, it feels that way. Throughout my fitness journey, I’ve trained at all kinds of gyms and studios—private, franchise, and corporate. While I naturally gravitate toward supporting small, independently owned businesses, I’ve found that some franchises successfully blur the line, operating more like intimate studios than large corporations. That distinction matters. When workouts feel thoughtfully designed, instructors bring their own personality and care into each class, and members feel genuinely seen, the experience becomes something more than just exercise. As the fitness market continues to grow increasingly competitive—especially with the arrival of many new studios on the Main Line in 2026—I believe those personal touches and a strong sense of community will be what truly sets studios apart. At least for this fitness girlie, that’s what will make all the difference.