Once upon a time, Peloton wasn’t a tech behemoth. It hadn’t yet killed Mr. Big, nor had it made that icky TV spot about the young husband trying to make his possibly imprisoned young wife hotter. In these halcyon times, Peloton was just an NYC-based fitness studio with a little idea to stream live cycling workouts to anyone, anywhere. And I, of all people, was its copywriter. They offered me a staff position, and I declined: “This ain’t goin’ anywhere.” Today, I hold these grainy screenshots close — my digital relics to show off in a far-in-the-future episode of Antiques Roadshow.