Good weather has been the worst enemy of all. In the days since California’s 40 million residents were ordered into a de facto lockdown—one that restricts all but the most essential of movements, from picking up groceries to medicine—clear skies and a shining sun have been too much of a lure for locals, especially those who can’t give up their greatest addiction: their bodies.
Sure, most businesses are shuttered and the streets are largely clear, but beaches, hiking trails, and parks have been anything but. Until Monday night, officials had been telling residents to go outside and enjoy the outdoors; the problem was that too many were listening. While some parts of town are downright ghost, others look like spring break, a juxtaposition that makes the six-foot rule a real danger.
In this Groundhog Day we’re all living, every day feels like the start of a three-day weekend, and parks here in Los Angeles have been ground zero. Two-on-two basketball with players clad in face masks and gloves until the gear messes with their jumper and they chuck it to the pavement; clusters of beefy CrossFitters, dripping sweat as they heave kettlebells; kids swinging on playground sets as their parents hover, eyes glued to their phones. There’s something else here: trainers. Lots of them. Look closely and you’ll see the cones, resistance bands, and foam rollers. Boxers sparring with gloves and punching mitts; sets of twos and threes doing push-ups in unison.
With gyms closed until who knows when, many trainers are meeting with clients in parks, turning lawns into low-key boot camps. And that’s still technically allowed: L.A. Mayor Eric Garcetti has only shut down 75,000 acres of hiking trails and restricted city parks, effectively banning organized sports like basketball and tennis.
Civil freedoms and community are important, and sports fosters a strong sense of identity, but this isn’t social distancing—these days, the grassy knoll has become home for defiers and disbelievers. You don’t need to go underground to find speakeasy gyms. Like everything in this city, depending on how much you want to pay, there’s a menu and a hierarchy. And if you have deep pockets, you’re not going to the park or to some off-the-books location: You’re working out at home and having trainers come to you.
Ryan Farhoudi is one of those trainers. Usually based out of Easton Gym, a boutique location near West Hollywood, the 43-year-old’s clientele includes Dev Patel, Armie Hammer, Kate Mara, Jamie Bell. When he’s not at Easton, Farhoudi makes house calls at home gyms. But business has been hit hard by California’s stay-at-home order, one without a definitive end date. Governor Gavin Newsom estimates that more than half the state’s population will contract the disease in the next eight weeks, but asking the public to stay home has thrown many livelihoods into disarray.
“Normally, I train eight or nine people a day,” Farhoudi says. “These days it’s maybe two to three.”
Farhoudi, an Austin native who came to L.A. 20 years ago, charges between $200 and $250 an hour. He says he no longer stretches clients during 60-minute sessions, but he doesn’t wear gloves or a mask, and it’s a mixed bag as to clients taking precautions. “If I touch something, basically I just make sure to use bleach and water. I try not to touch anything. All I do is instruct from a distance.”
But is it safe? “I went with one of my clients this morning, just to hike. We met at Runyon Canyon to jog, obviously we [social] distanced. We don’t touch hands, we don’t hug. It’s probably no different than walking a dog and passing your neighbor.”
There is one difference: chance. And a healthy dose of cognitive dissonance.
On one hand, Farhoudi calls coronavirus a “ratings bonanza for news cycles,” adding that “65% of the people I knew had the flu or flu-like symptoms in December, but nobody was talking about coronavirus.” He does take things seriously, he says, modifying his routine, but it’s a push-and-pull. “If someone says to me, ‘I want you to come to my home and train me,’ I will go to their home, but I will not stretch them, I will stay six feet away. I keep an open dialogue: how do you feel, how are you feeling? The thing is, if I go to Erewhon [Market] to buy groceries, I will come within six feet of someone. If I’m doing my job but keeping the same distance, it feels comparable to me.”
Farhoudi says he’s seeing “the same clients I was before this phenomenon. It boils down to how badly clients want to see their trainers, how much they trust their trainers. It almost feels like sexual partners. If you’re having sex with multiple people, the chances of getting something are higher.”
Not everyone is so eager. “One of my clients is an infectious disease doctor. I saw him in person until Easton closed. I have some clients that I’m doing Skype workouts [with] or texting them workouts,” he says, noting that charging $20 a pop for a virtual workout is a huge drop. “People love their trainers, therapists, hairdressers. If it’s been six weeks and I haven’t gotten a haircut, and I know and trust them, I might say, ‘Cut my hair.’ It’s the same with training. It’s up to the individual. Most of my friends are reasonable people. People look up to you, they go, ‘I trust Ryan, I believe what Ryan is saying.’ What the fuck do I know? I tell clients to monitor yourself. Whatever you want and need, I will provide for you. If you want me to come to your house with a mask and gloves, I’ll do that. If you want to do it online, we do that. If anyone says, ‘I’m not feeling well,’ you need to go see the doctor, get a clean bill of health, and let me know.”
What about so-called speakeasy gyms? What lengths are people going to keep in shape?
“Look,” he says, “it’s true. You see these college kids taking Jaeger shots: it’s still the equivalent of that in the gym world, people getting together doing group workouts. If I were in a position to train in a gym and there were multiple trainers in the gym, I wouldn’t do it.”
There are many free, useful apps to download, he says, and “if you can afford Peloton or the MIRROR, look no further. All you need is a good-size yoga mat and a willingness to workout.”
Farhoudi says he’ll continue to train clients. “Unless the government is locking us in our homes, there’s going to be some cross-pollination. You have to trust who you’re working with.”
Not everyone is so sure. “For my own health, I don’t feel comfortable [training clients],” says Brooklyn-based Peter Weitman, who has chosen to email programs and has avoided underground gyms, even if there is good money.
Others aren’t letting that stop them. “I’m not in a position to give up work if I have the opportunity,” admits Hunter Seagroves, a 32-year-old West Hollywood trainer and his family’s sole breadwinner. “My son will be four next month, my daughter is a year-and-a-half. I’ve had several clients offer to pre-pay for sessions and continue to do FaceTime sessions to keep me employed. But the contact we’re making with each other, if one of us is affected, we’re both going to be affected by this.”
Seagroves says he’s splitting time between training in parks and home gyms. He’s also aware of the stigma of working out in public, and fears “being judged about it too.”
The industry is going more online than into secret underground gyms, he says. “Some colleagues have said, ‘I think this place is open or that place is open.’ I’ve heard about the speakeasies, but it’s not something I’ve felt the need to take advantage of.”
Around 10% of gyms are open on the sly, Seagroves estimates.
Like Farhoudi, he too works with actors, and speaks with a hesitance that reveals how conflicted he is—yet he hasn't been wearing gloves or a mask at workouts. “One guy I’m meeting in his house, he doesn’t give a shit and I’ve seen him every day this week. Another guy I saw earlier in the week, in the park, he gave me notice last night. He said, ‘Okay, let’s chill. I’ll still buy 10 sessions from you if it’s helpful.’ I’m trying to meet every client where they are energetically. I’m in this business for their betterment and their health. I have to keep them as safe as I’m keeping myself.”
What about being a carrier?
Seagroves sighs heavily: “I’m not nervous about passing it to my family. That might be born out of ignorance. The only thing I’ve heard about children is that they’re largely unaffected. In terms of getting it, I’m only worried about not being able to work. If I feel like shit for a few weeks, from my understanding, that would be the end of it.” Younger adults constitute a growing number of coronavirus cases, with the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention recently reporting that at least 35% of hospitalized patients were between20 and 54; it’s still unclear how the virus affects children, but they can certainly be carriers. Seagroves points to a combination of good health care, good health, and his youth as confidence boosters. “My care has always been from the economic standpoint. I’m trying to maintain social distance, but it does feel loose because you’re touching the same equipment.”
On Friday afternoon, Seagroves took his wife and children to L.A.’s Pan Pacific Park, where he threw a baseball with his son and watched groups working out next to a busy basketball court and children’s playground.
“It’s actually kind of popping out here,” he said, watching the scene. “They’re going to shut it down. They have to. It feels too good to be true. The way things are right now, I feel confident I’ll be able to string together enough hours to pay for groceries, but in terms of my rent and utilities, I’m expecting business to stay slow because we’re on lockdown for the next month or so. I try not to project, but what little money I’ve saved is dwindling. It’s freaky.”
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