Heavy Lifting

How a rooftop, a U-Haul, and 1,000 Instagram followers marked the start of something that would run—then fly.

OK- let’s get back to the studio.

By this point (we are talking 2019) , it was obvious where my brain was parked: the studio. Fully. Obsessively. Enthusiastically. It was the one thing in my life that felt like mine. No sharing, no compromise, no committee meetings about whether we “really needed another plant in the corner.” Just me, building something that got better the more I poured into it. A rare relationship where effort equaled results. Unlike, say, my marriage.

Yes, my social calendar had picked up (sweating next to someone at 6 a.m. is the fastest route to friendship, closely followed by getting stranded at IKEA), but the studio gave me something else—something solid to hold onto while the rest of my life was doing its best impression of a toddler on redbull. It was stability. It was purpose. It was mine.

The day we opened, a fellow business owner leaned in and asked, “So… how does it feel to give birth?” I am not a parent. But I understood the metaphor. Months of growing, planning, overthinking, panic-purchasing, and then finally—pushing it into the world, sweating and swearing the whole way. A labor of love, minus the epidural.

And just like a real birth, that was only the beginning. Because now this thing you made? It needs feeding, nurturing, guiding, encouraging. You celebrate the crawling. Cheer on the wobbly first steps. And eventually, you stand back and let it run… hopefully in branded apparel.

By the time year one rolled around, I was ready to launch. Like, Beyoncé-at-Coachella launch. So, we went full send: pop-up rides. The plan? Load all our bikes (each approximately the weight of a baby elephant) into a U-Haul, drive them across town—or across the state—unload, set up music, merch, check-in, and then act like this was totally normal behavior for a boutique fitness business and not some spin cult on tour.