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JUDY McMillin used to be a perennial quitter. Every January, gym-going would become her new favourite hobby, and then, poof, she would abandon it. “I just did not grow up exercising or enjoying it,” said McMillin, 57, a homemaker in Dallas.
If someone had told her that partnering up with a college student would be the silver bullet, she would have laughed. But having a sidekick accompany her twice a week to strength-training did make the gym less daunting; no longer was she alone in a sea of spandex-clad know-it-alls.
And she appreciated how her fitness buddy, Sarah Prochaska (an exercise science major paid to encourage members), suggested swimming and Pilates and gave her exactly the push she needed.
“I told her, ‘I need you to really pump me up and encourage me, call me and brag on me and really help me, because this is not my favourite thing to do,”’ McMillin said. “And she did.”
This matchmaking is a come-on where McMillin exercises, the 7,000-member Baylor Tom Landry Fitness Centre in Dallas. Participants pay a US$200 (RM700) deposit; if they attend at least 12 appointments in six weeks, they get their US$200 back. As an added incentive, the intern phones them if they don’t show up.
With habitual renouncers like McMillin in mind, a handful of gym owners and health club managers have devised innovative ways to create brand loyalty as they turn gym dodgers into gym rats. The thinking is basic: members are more likely to show up if they feel someone cares.
Personal trainers, the original exercise truant officers, have spawned a whole new level of prodding. Now clubs coddle members with advisers to help them choose suitable yoga classes, frequent-flyer-type programmes that track progress and award prizes, telephone calls to the lackadaisical to see what’s come between them and the stair climber, and even home visits to bring quitters back into the fold.
“We’re going to see clubs do more hand-holding in the future,” said Pamela Kufahl, the editor of Fitness Business Pro, a publication for health club owners.
“Only about 16 per cent of Americans belong to a health club, she said, and those people tend to be the already fit.
That leaves 80 per cent presumably lolling about, ripe for the picking.
Health club owners may worry about their customers’ bottoms, but are most concerned with their own bottom line.
“They see there is this huge population out there that’s untapped,” Kufahl said, “and they want to bring them in.”
While it may seem curious that gyms would go all out to ensure that members show up (as opposed to those who pay but don’t), it makes a lot of sense, said Rick Caro, the president of Management Vision in Manhattan, a consultant to health clubs.
“The clubs now realise that if they satisfy that member they can provide additional services and charge more per month in the future,” Caro said. Also, he added, it’s more expensive to acquire a new member than to serve an old one.
The idea of exercise enforcers may also seem strange to the more disciplined among us. “You’re hiring someone else to make you work,” said Micki McGee, the author of Self-Help, Inc.: Makeover Culture in American Life.
“It follows the same social schematic as hiring a personal coach or job coach — it’s externalising the voice of authority. It’s a feature of late modernity that this is how we operate.”
But for the anxious novice, an encouraging voice may make the difference between opting in or opting out. That’s why two years ago, Yoga Works, a chain of 15 studios in California and New York, started an adviser programme to help the unenlightened distinguish Iyengar from Ashtanga.
Sean Nass of Los Angeles, 39, an importer, had long felt that people who weren’t flexible (him) should not attempt yoga.
But after a half-hour consultation with Allison Richard, an adviser at Yoga Works, he began attending a 90-minute beginner class.
Daily. At 6.15am.
He’s been at it for 10 days and plans to continue after his US$25 two-week trial. “They were so good in welcoming me,” said Nass, who persuaded a friend to join him.
Clients at yoga studios and gyms want to know that someone cares if they fall off the wagon — or the treadmill. The top two reasons people leave clubs are because they did not have an exercise partner and because a favourite staff person left, according to a 1998 sportsclub association study.
The staff at the Gym, a 1,300-member centre in Manhattan, goes so far as to escort clients to the elliptical machine.
Three times a week at 6am, Thomas Santos, a trainer there, picks up Donna Flagg, 42, at her apartment and walks her to her hour-long workout. “The hardest thing for people is that 10 minutes of getting there,” Flagg said.
“It’s easier to have someone come get me.”
Virtual coaches offer some measure of accountability, too. About 700 facilities nationwide use FitLinxx, a computerised system that attaches to gym equipment and tracks clients’ progress. Members receive e-mail reports on kilogrammes lifted, calories burned and other statistics. Clubs that use FitLinxx usually cut their dropout rates by about 16 per cent, said David Crampton, the company’s chief executive.
There are even pats on the head for out-of-gym exercise. Spectrum Athletic Clubs, a chain in California and Texas, rewards everything from jogging to lawn mowing.
Members are given pedometers; a web site calculates how many “kilometres” an activity is worth. For pedometer-proof activities like rowing and swimming, the club uses an honour system.
Participants can earn up to US$250 in gift cards from retailers like Bloomingdale’s. But the programme’s goal is to motivate members “to remain active and committed for more than 90 days,” said Matthew Stevens, Spectrum’s chief executive.
“Anything that you associate with something pleasurable” is likely to be repeated, said Robert H. Reiner, the director of Behavioral Associates, a cognitive behavioural therapy institute in Manhattan. “That’s what creates brand loyalty.” — NYT
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