After having a deeply unsatisfying argument with the robotic parking gate — “I have to pay $15 to get out of this deck? Are you serious!?” — and learning that Pete and the boys wouldn’t be home from a hike for another few hours, Willa drove to a nearby coffee shop, Octane, to get more cold brew and spend some quality time with the FitFams instruction manual.
“FitFams is more than a workout,” it said on the first page, in italics. “This is the first day of your best life.”
OK, Willa thought. I have now memorized the company motto.
On the next page was a letter from the founder, Dee, in a faux-handwriting typeface that made Willa cringe:
“There is no short-cut to a great body. You have to work hard to get it, and you have to invest in it to get it. You, as a member of the FitFams Force, need to help the client understand this. You are to be their friend, their confidante, their mother, their father, their teacher, their fashion stylist, their therapist, their COACH.
You will help them understand that we sweat so hard because high cardio is key. You will help them understand that we use lighter-weight FitFams weights because heavy weights can tear muscle fiber, causing it to bulk.”
Um, that doesn’t sound right, Willa thought.
“We at FitFams have a saying: ‘Don’t let yourself go; let yourself be.’ Be your best self. Be great. As my friend, Gwyneth Paltrow, once said: ‘I love being. There’s so much wisdom in it. You wake up in the morning and you think, hey, isn’t it just great being?’
Yes, it is great — at FitFams. Thank you for being part of this incredible journey.
Yours in mind and body, Dee Bradley.”
Willa pulled out her phone and texted her friend, Allison Land, a married but child-free marketing executive who oversaw the Sparkle Towels account at Georgia-Pacific and was exactly the person you’d reach out to if you wanted to shit-talk something or someone. She would always match your outrage, never judge you, and forever keep your secrets.
“The FitFams founder quotes Gwyneth in the top-secret instructor’s manual,” Willa thumbed into her phone.
Allison, as expected, wrote right back: “LOL. Of course she does. How’s training going?”
Willa: “I haven’t really done any. I have learned that I will be DJing while coaching classes.”
Allison: [a gif of a cat riding in circles on a turntable] “So if the fitness instructor thing doesn’t work out, you can play at raves! Hell yeah. I will be in the front row with glow sticks and Molly.”
Willa: “Please. You’ll be with me behind the decks. But definitely on Molly. I guess I’ll need to bring the kids with me.”
Allison: “It’s never too early to get tinnitus.”
Willa: [thumbs up]
The next page of the 200-page manual focused on Dee, with a beautiful headshot and a list of her major accomplishments, including being named to several “40 Under 40” lists, inclusion in a book about American (S)heroes, links to television interviews about FitFams, and her 2019 win for “Nonprofit Professional of the Year.” Also on the page were quotes from famous and civilian friends, attesting to her generosity, ambition, smarts, stamina, and determination.
Willa picked up her phone and opened Dee’s Instagram page. There were the requisite workout photos, abs on shiny display. There were images of her stag-leaping in front of new studios. There were Boomerang videos of her playing Flip Cup with junior training managers and jumping off of a yacht while holding hands with Tara and Shelly, FitFams’ CFO.
Willa next tapped on a video tour of Dee’s art-filled Upper East Side apartment, purchased after selling several Florida waterfront properties for millions. In another image, Dee is playing badminton with other FitFams friends (captioned with “my boos” and tagged #booclub). Everyone looks so sunny and happy and unfettered. Willa pictured herself as part of that inner circle, jetting off to Salt Lake City for skiing at Snowbird or road-tripping to the Hamptons for a clambake with beers on the beach.
Willa went back to the manual, and flipped ahead to read about tension, intensity, muscle stimulation, range of motion, and overload in the FitFams workout. Then her phone buzzed. It was Coach Jamie.
“Dee has decided she wants me to demo a class for her today. I have to find people to play client. Can you come? We start in 30 minutes.”
Willa checked her Apple Watch. Was everything always so last-minute with this company? She did have time before the boys would be home, and she was already wearing workout clothes.
“Sure, I’ll be right there,” Willa texted.
Willa could hear the music thumping as she once again rounded the corner on the sidewalk to the studio. Before she could put her hand on the door, Coach Jamie was opening it.
“Welcome to the first day of your best life! I’m Coach Jamie, and I’m gonna kick your ass!” she shouted, sweat on her hairline. She was holding an iPad and a thrice-folded towel while wearing a FitFams crop top and a headset with one earphone and a small boom mic. “While I check you in, you can put your stuff in one of these cubbies in the waiting area. What size shoe do you wear?”
“Seven,” Willa said.
“Great! I’ll get you your FitFams Feet,” Jamie said, trotting behind the front desk and retrieving a pair of stiff, shiny, white shoes that looked suspiciously like Willa’s own cycling shoes, except cleaner and with a heart-shaped cleat on the bottom.
“Once you’re settled in and get your FitFams Feet on, please choose a machine in the main part of the studio, and I’ll meet you there for a quick run-through of what to expect,” Jamie said, then hustled off to talk to another client stand-in.
That “make it seem like you’re on cocaine” thing? Yeah, Jamie had it down.
Willa slipped on the shoes and waddled — the cleat on the bottom made it tough to walk gracefully — into the main part of the studio, then stood next to an Anastrongsia in the second row.
“During the class, the music will be way up, and I will always be coaching,” Jamie yelled from the podium. Then she turned to look at her DJ decks and slid one of the volume bars up, before hitting the air horn button.
“That’s our five-minute warning, everyone!” Jaime said. “Time to click in and get ready.”
The four others in the room seemed to know what they were doing, so Willa watched them for cues. They clicked one foot into a pedal, then the other, and fiddled with the controls on the front bar.
“Has anyone been here for 10 or more classes? If you have, please take the FitFams Bands and place them around your ankles and wrists,” Jamie said, then used the turntables to segue from Cardi B’s “Money” to Megan Thee Stallion’s “Hot Girl Summer.”
Willa spotted Dee, sitting in a corner on a stool, watching Jamie closely and taking copious notes on her laptop.
“Look at the control panel in front of you. The button on the left increases resistance, the button in the middle increases speed, and the button on the right is an emergency stop. You will start with resistance and speed at 5, keeping the beat, and changing those levels as I call that out to you. Those changes, or ‘moves,’ have names that you’ll learn with time.”
Dee tapped, tapped, tapped on her computer.
“Take a look at your feet. The pedals go up and down as you face the front of the room, where you can hold on to the handlebars next to you. But imagine those pedals are on top of a Bosu ball, or plank of wood on top of a rolling cylinder. That allows you to keep moving your pedals up and down while turning your entire body to face the sides and back of the room. I will call out when it is time to turn. Those moves have names too, that you will learn with time.”
Tap, tap, tap.
“I’m going to cue the next song and then turn off the main lights. Then I’ll count down from 10, and we will start for real,” Jamie said. “Who’s ready?!”
Willa couldn’t hear whether anyone cheered. Jamie cued Justin Bieber’s “What Do You Mean?”, turned off the main lights and turned up the neon stripe around the room, then counted down. Willa could feel the excitement building in the room.
“3-2-1,” Jamie screamed. “Let’s go!”
I love being too! Huh?