With Coronavirus, the Work-Out-From-Home Movement Has a Captive Audience

From the uncannily timed debut of the SoulCycle bike to the rise of livestreamed yoga, the fitness world is expanding—to the size of your living room.

As COVID-19 clears out gyms and office buildings, at-home fitness platforms find a newly primed clientele.FROM THE EVERETT COLLECTION.

 For all the unfortunate timing amid the fast-moving coronavirus crisis—March Madness canceled, the Louisiana primary postponed, Broadway theaters drawing their curtains—it's hard to ignore one instance of spectacular coincidence. On Friday, Equinox Media introduced its multi-brand virtual fitness platform, Variis, in soft-launch mode to select members. With it came the pre-order phase for a much-anticipated new toy: the at-home SoulCycle bike.

To the cardio loyalists who have been wringing their well-washed hands, weighing the risks of a sweaty studio against the usual euphoric rush, it might have been the only good news of the week. Now, for every person on Twitter chiming in to say, "I bet that lady is pretty psyched about having a Peloton now," there's a future cohort of SoulCycle riders pretty psyched about their own in-crowd alternative, at a time when peak luxury is low exposure.
Customers will have to exercise patience: Shipments roll out later this spring to select cities including New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, and Austin, where the bike was scheduled for a splashy SXSW debut before COVID-19 concerns spurred the festival's cancellation. And the saddle doesn't come cheap. If Peloton caught flak for its red-accented bike ($2,245 with a monthly $39 fee), SoulCycle's matte-black version is $2,500 with a $40 subscription to Variis (also included: five in-studio classes and free shipping). The on-demand programming goes beyond a slate of spin classes pulsing nightclub vibes through the bike's 21.5-inch screen. Sister brands are also represented, with Vinyasa flows by Pure Yoga, HIIT sessions with Equinox pros, and HeadStrong mindfulness exercises to offer futile distraction from the rapid-fire news alerts.

SoulCycle's new at-home bike, now available for pre-order, arrived on Friday amid coronavirus turmoil.COURTESY OF SOULCYCLE
Thursday morning, hours after the WHO declared a pandemic, I boarded an A train from my neighborhood in Brooklyn to catch an early Variis x SoulCycle preview in the West Village. (With social distancing on everyone's mind, a publicist assured me that the appointment was one-on-one, "and we're cleaning the space throughout the day.") The subway car was sober in mood, two-thirds full at rush hour. One woman pulled her scarf over her nose; another guy gripped the pole with a chic black latex glove that probably now sells for a hundred bucks on Amazon. Like all New Yorkers with a healthy dose of resilience, anxiety, and dark humor, I half-wondered if I were riding a contagion-mobile in order to test-ride a bike for the self-quarantined.

Upon arrival at the event space, I bumped elbows with the blonde SoulCycle instructor Melanie Griffith (not that one), who led me into a darkened room for my session. The bike seemed comparatively small next to a hulking custom Woodway treadmill (a future at-home offering from Variis), though it's slightly bigger than spin-class models, with a frame of commercial-grade steel, an easy hydraulic lift for the handlebars, and a weight load that now accommodates up to 350 pounds. I confessed to Mel, as she called herself, that I had only done a spin class once before (drafting behind a machine-like Danny Bowien), and she helped adjust my seat before the video turned on: toned bodies in pastel-tinged light, with liquid camerawork capturing the cultish party vibe. I apparently cranked the resistance knob a few too many turns. It was soon clear that out-of-shape wheezing is one way to psych yourself out about a respiratory virus.

I moved onto the treadmill, jogging uphill with a 5-minute demo of David Siik's Precision Run, a dynamic program that tinkers with speed and incline. Equinox's HIIT videos came next, taking me through push-ups, squats, and mountain climbers on the mat. Afterwards, wiping down with a chilled eucalyptus towel that I should replicate in my own fridge, I left newly inspired to figure out my own version of fitness, as the world retreats into temporary hibernation. An app that serves up a high-end salad bar of offerings (with none of the associated germs) seems like a wisely timed option. Uncannily so.

"The feedback has been overwhelmingly positive," Equinox Media CEO Jason LaRose told me in a call on Friday afternoon, pointing to the enthusiasm on Instagram about the bike. ("Had my order in w/in seconds of receiving the invite—adrenaline pumping—felt like Monday at noon," wrote one stoked regular. Another: "YO DAWG WHERE WERE THE AUDITIONS FOR THE AUDIENCE RIDER?") On the same day that President Trump declared a national emergency, response for the at-home app remained steady. "We've had members already reaching out to us, on the first day that they're getting access, saying, 'Thank you for this because I live in a part of town where I can't get in a club anymore,'" LaRose said. "For us, this is really an and answer"—that is, a mission to meet customers wherever they are, in the studio and in the digital sphere. (That is no doubt why the competitor Peloton is set to open a sprawling Manhattan West flagship studio next week, albeit less a stroke of good timing.) "Those experiences in real life are really compelling," LaRose added. "But sometimes it just doesn't work." His own 80-person team, based in a Manhattan production studio once home to The Daily Show and Sesame Street, has begun decamping from the office in favor of remote locations.

How will this moment—with stir-crazy cycling fanatics cooped up at home, credit card in hand—affect Variis's arrival onto the fitness scene? Remember: It was just last summer that Stephen Ross, the chairman of Equinox's parent company, hosted a Trump fundraiser, setting off protests and high-profile defections. (Chrissy Teigen's tweet to action: "everyone who cancels their equinox and soul cycle memberships, meet me at the library. bring weights.") Both of the fitness behemoths issued responses at the time, distancing themselves from the Republican billionaire. Now, with global leaders throwing shade at the president's response to COVID-19, one wonders if Equinox's image can remain as squeaky clean as its gym equipment now getting thrice-daily wipe-downs with hospital-grade cleaner.

In any case, as we shift into a WFH reality, the movement to WOFH is gaining strength. Mirror, the streaming platform whose hardware offers a svelte full-length reflection, announced a wellness content partnership with Lululemon in January; ambassador Gabby Bernstein leads meditation classes like a serene avatar (if not quite a Lizzo-level guru). Mirror's CEO and founder Brynn Putnam typically observes an uptick in exercise frequency in the health-conscious new year, but this year member engagement had a five-fold increase. "In recent weeks, we've seen that people are twice as likely to purchase a Mirror compared to prior months," she explained in an email.

A behind-the-scenes look at Sky Ting TV, with cofounders Chloe Kernaghan and Krissy Jones.COURTESY OF SKY TING.

For the New York yoga studio Sky Ting, its four-month-old video platform is a saving grace while its three locations grapple with coronavirus. (As of now, the studios remain open, with cautionary measures in place: BYO props and mats, no hands-on adjustments, limited class sizes.) Cofounder Krissy Jones reported in an email that Sky Ting TV had gotten "lots of new customers" this week, ramping up to the high numbers they had seen during holiday travel. Still, as the studios empty out, they're worried about employees most of all. "We are cancelling some classes, prioritizing the teachers who rely on us the most," she wrote.
To go or not to go—and, by extension, to support or not to support? I might have pruned down my outings, but I am still contemplating a beloved dance class in Soho this weekend, imagining that its rigorously exacting technique and sparse attendance is some kind of safeguard. (I know.) In a more prudent frame of mind, I can salute the sun with Sky Ting TV and grind through some HIIT moves with the Variis trial app. Most of all, I am eager to finally heed advice that the great choreographer Twyla Tharp gave me last fall, as we talked about her latest book, Keep It Moving: Lessons for the Rest of Your Life—ostensibly about aging well, but it might as well be about forestalling cabin fever.

"Your body is your job. You can't expect to do your best work if your body is not honed, prepared, and primed to do the work. Hello?!" Tharp said, as if knocking her fist against my skull. Her prescription involves drafting a detailed exercise plan at night, and then setting an unsparing alarm. "You get up. It feels like shit—that's too bad! Do it because your habits have to be inbred until they are automatic," she said in her airy Upper West Side apartment. (There was plenty of room for a SoulCycle setup, but her stationary bike had a no-nonsense practicality.) She demonstrated a warp-speed version of her daily workout—bridge poses, bicycle kicks, an improvisation to the Beatles—which was impressive even before you counted her 78 years. "You need continuity," she stressed. "It's not about inspiration. It's not about a wondrous moment in time." Her call to movement now sounds like about the best advice one can get in the midst of a health crisis, hand-washing aside. She gave me a stern look and said, "This is a drill."

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Source: Vanityfair