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REALISTICALLY, I KNOW that
Obé Fitness’s instructors exist in
the actual world, not just inside
the glowing white box on my
laptop screen. I’m also acutely
aware that this white box is a set
in Brooklyn, and that the toned bodies that bop around inside
of it, dressed in pastel-pink leggings, don’t just lead live back-
to-back exercise classes on loop. They presumably go home
on occasion to do laundry, drink Lambrusco, bicker, sleep.
By which I mean: They’re actual human beings, not focus
group–tested avatars created by a roomful of programmers
or some user-generated algorithm. But as I maniacally hurl
myself around my living room on the command of the small
figure bouncing across the screen
of my MacBook Air, my brain
keeps reverting back to the idea
that I am, in fact, obeying some
kind of digital elf on the shelf.
I soldier on, lunging and twirl-
ing, grateful that in the privacy
of my home in Amherst, Massa-
chusetts, no one is around to see
how little control I actually have
over my own limbs. But Kathryn
A., who is leading this morning’s
dance cardio class, does know that
I’m here. My name and geographic
location, along with the personal
information of the other partic-
ipants who have paid Obé’s $27
monthly subscription fee to tune
into the class from far-flung places, are visible to her as we
sign on. “Watch that tempo, Susan in St. Louis!” Kathryn
intones. “Keep it up, Kelly in Greenville, South Carolina!”
These kinds of workout classes, which are beamed live to
followers who can log in and sweat it out from wherever they
happen to be on the planet, are part of the growing telefitness
phenomenon. One-upping the on-demand streaming services
that many cult instructors (Tracy Anderson; Anna Kaiser,
of AKT; Lauren Kleban, of LEKFIT) have added to their
lucrative businesses, this relatively new concept incorporates
the accountability and go-go-go engagement of in-person
classes—without having to go-go-go anywhere at all. Pelo-
ton, the company whose top-dollar bikes saved hard-core
spinning fans from having to schlep all the way to Flywheel,
now films yoga and meditation classes live in a West Village
studio for subscribers to follow, in real time, on the brand’s
app. And Alicia Keys, Reese Witherspoon, and Kate Hudson
are just a few of the satisfied customers who have proclaimed
their love for Mirror fitness, the $1,500 portal invented by a
Harvard-educated former ballet dancer that hangs on your
wall like any other wardrobe fixture; turn it on, and a trainer
(real or virtual, as you prefer) magically pops up to lead you
in a personalized workout via an embedded camera and
microphone. The New York Times has called it the biggest
celebrity-fitness sensation since SoulCycle.
But in a world gone increasingly remote, where the gym
remains a place to collectively remove our armor
and unleash our bodies to the pound of “Bodak
Yellow,” is telefitness yet another usurper of the
analog norms of community?
Obé’s live classes are intense and, mercifully,
short. In 28 minutes the session is over, and I
collapse on my living-room floor, drenched and
panting. Not long ago, I would have showered,
dressed, and taken the subway to my job as a
magazine editor in midtown Manhattan, excit-
ed to waste company time discussing with my
co-workers the surreality of modern life. But a
year ago, my husband and I moved with our two
small children to this relatively quiet, bucolic col-
lege town. Now we live in a picturesque shingled
saltbox on a couple of wooded acres, and I have
an approximately 35-second commute—up the
stairs to my office. I am among the eight million
Americans who work from home. As I check the clock in
the corner of my screen, I realize it is now 2:45 p.m. I’ve seen
no one since the babysitter showed up at 8:30 a.m. Hello...
is there anybody out there?
If I sound a little edgy on the subject of widespread iso-
lation, I’m hardly alone. In a speech last year, British prime
minister Theresa May said she was addressing “the sad
reality of modern life” by appointing Tracey Crouch as the
U.K.’s first “Minister of Loneliness.” Whether loneliness
has risen to the level of a worldwide epidemic has been
debated by experts, but, to be sure, it’s a growing problem.
In a 2018 study of more than 20,000 American adults, 43
percent reported that they are “isolated from others,” and
only 53 percent said they have meaningful in-person social
interactions on a daily basis. There’s no blood test to prove
if someone is, in fact, lonely. But the health repercussions
of chronic isolation can be dramatic, according to Julianne
Holt-Lunstad, Ph.D., a professor of psychology and neuro-
science at Brigham Young University. “Social relationships
can influence our biological markers, including cardiovascu-
lar functioning and immune response,” says Holt-Lunstad,
who notes that loneliness can eventually affect inflamma-
tion, which is linked to everything
A WiFi signal is all
you need to work out
with a trainer, in real
time, from any where
in the world. But do
the risks of further
isolating ourselves
out wei g h telef it ne s s’s
endorphin rush? asks
Maggie Bullock.
Remote
Control
LOST CONNECTION
The latest celebrity-approved fitness craze places you out
of the studio—and in front of a screen. From the series “Out
My Window, Paris Views,” 2013, by Gail Albert Halaban. CONTINUED ON PAGE 150 GAIL ALBERT HALABAN.
24 SEPTEM
BRE, 2013, COUR DES PETITES ÉCURIES, PARIS 10-E,
FROM
THE SERIES “OUT M
Y W
INDOW, PARIS VIEW
S”, 2013. COURTESY OF APERTURE.
