While I was doing the renovations, it wasn’t uncommon for people to wander into my space, look around and start asking questions “So what kind of business are you putting in here”It’s a Pilates studio “a what?” A Pilates studio…it’s a type of exercise.

It was the same question and answer routine that I went through when I first started teaching, except just a teensy bit more irritating……why????……. because people would just show up at random. I worked alone, not that I ever felt that I was in danger, but I kept a golf club near by, just in case. Things were more controlled when I was working out of my house. It was harder to find me. People couldn’t just show up at my front door without calling for directions.  Not that I am super formal, but I do appreciate a phone call asking if it is OK to stop by to chat about classes and to see my studio. Showing up with a party of four, mats in hand without an appointment like I was running some kind of Pilates fraternity party was kind of rude…..of course, that is my opinion.

After all, this was my studio; which meant, that I got to make the rules. My classes were not a free-for-all, like the gym, where a teacher could have 25 or more people in a mat class. There were limits to the number of people that I would take in a class; and that was somewhere around 8……. but I would usually end up with 10. I didn’t just teach an exercise class; this was a lesson in movement. People were paying me 15.00 per class; I didn’t feel right standing at the front of the room calling out exercises like some elite version of square dancing.  “Ok, now everyone promonade…..I mean rollup”

I had been to enough of those types of classes, and never liked the teaching format. I felt like it was a waste of money. I wanted to give people  something more other than the opportunity to tell their friends that they took Pilates. Of course, when I first opened the studio, that was definitely the case. I am sure that it sounded impressive at a cocktail party in response to the question “What’s new?” ….answer….” I just started taking a Pilates class”….question……“Really? What’s that?”….and so forth.

Regardless of how accurate the conversation was in terms of description, it seemed to work…..people were calling wanting privates, classes……whatever they could get.

For me, it was hard taking on so many new people at one time. Of course, I certainly had my share of “freak shows” walk in the front door expecting some type of S&M session with the Pilates teacher after watching too many episodes of Sex in the City. After a couple of those, I learned how to screen clients a little bit better. I was starting to develop a system. Every new client filled out an intake form, giving me their list of “what I don’t like about myself” complaints, along with any medical conditions, missing body parts or mental disorders. I knew way too much about some of these people than I really wanted to. I guess my form should have been more specific,  only requesting information that was relevent to my field of movement, although the missing body parts would certainly apply.

“Honey……… don’t any of your clients know an electrician who does side jobs?”

Chico was such a person, who was sent to us by one of Steve’s clients, Victor. Victor could get us anything that we wanted when it came to contractors or materials. He owned rental properties and he knew how to get things done for as little money as possible. Chico could do the job for just over $4,000. Of course, the building inspector made him redo a few things; but I didn’t care. Chico was cheap, he showed up when he said he would, and he didn’t have a crack habit (that’s another story).

Victor turned into a great resource. He got me a great deal on paint, that I could have sworn  he said came out of the back of a tractor trailer. Who cares…… it was free. He also gave me the number for Don the Door Guy, and yes, that is what people really called him. All that Victor said was “You need doors? Don the door guy can get you doors” I made Steve call and I swear that he had to say “Victor sent me” before Don the Door Guy would tell him where to find him.

Steve and I met Don the Door Guy in a back alley outside of an old building that, when we walked in, was filled with EVERY type of door that you could imagine. There were front doors, back doors, insulated or non-insulated. There were right hand doors and left hand doors. No knobs….those were extra. I was looking for a set of french doors and two solid doors, which after some digging, I was able to find.  The cost for all four doors?…..$70.00…….cash……of course. It worked for me.

Once the doors were up, I still needed to paint and clean.The floor would go down last. Steve would push me around on two stories worth of scaffolding so that I could clean the ceiling beams. I also had a solid wall of glass block that had so much dirt on it that the glass was black. There was a brick wall that had about 50  years worth of paint on it, that the decorator thought would look great if I stripped it down to the natural brick.  It sounded easy, and the kit that I bought to do it had pictures that made it look so simple. First I needed to put on protective eye wear, a mask and gloves as I read through pages of instructions warning about the risks of chemical burns, brain damage or death. Once I was throughly briefed on the risks I painted this thick, toxic paste onto the brick which seemed to take on a life of it’s own upon contact. Next, I covered the wall with sheets of paper and left it sit overnight.  I was fully prepared to return the next morning to discover a hole eaten through the brick, but no such luck.  Instead of the paint sticking to the paper the way that it showed in the picture, the paint turned into a thick gooey mess that needed to be scrubbed off with a wire brush, and a couple of gallons of Simply Green.  Fun? It was a pain in the ass; but the wall looked so cool when it was done.

The only thing left to do were the floors, which involved renting a commercial sander, which again, looked a lot easier than it was. I was cleaning sawdust out of my ears and underwear for days, but when I was finished…….the floors looked pretty good.

The smell of shellac was still evident, but Physical Methods was open for business.

As Day two began, I was beginning to get the gist of how the Fletcher people did things. The standard uniform color was black. Black leggings, black leotard, black unitard or a combination of black with black….you get the idea. Hair had to be pulled off of the face, either in a ponytail or in a hair clip. All bags and personal items were to be kept off of the floor and stored in a designated location. There was no eating, gum chewing, socks or wearing any jewelry that was considered distracting.  There was a protocol with this group, almost like a seniority system that I thought was interesting. No one spoke out of turn, unless they were asked.

Every workshop would start with Pat at the front of the room starting us off with a few breathing and movement patterns, sometimes with the towel…….sometimes without. Everything that was taught, had a beginning, a middle, and an end that were connected with something that Ron called a “goesinta” You know one piece of movement GOES…….IN…….TO the next one. Get it? I thought it was cute.

The second day of the workshop was definitely going to be a challenge for me. After yesterday’s introduction to the Fletcher work on the reformer, I felt like I had gone a couple of rounds with a cage fighter. My muscles were so sore, that it hurt to wear clothes. My arms felt like someone had beaten me with a bat, and my thighs hurt to touch them. Standing still wasn’t so bad, but moving…..that took some effort. I tried not to focus on the pain as I lifted my towel out in front of my body and pulled. I was able to understand some of those  survival stories that you read about in Reader’s Digest where someone gets mauled by a bear, and they survive for days by imagining that they have gone to their happy place until help arrives. So there I was in MY happy place lifting and lowering my towel, which wasn’t too bad, until Pat suddenly added a lunge; yes, a lunge. My thigh muscles were screaming ”are you kidding me,” as I lunged to the right with the rest of the class, and then ouch, back to center; and then I lunged to the left, and then ouch, back to the center. Next a side bend was added to the lunge, which at that point, I was surprised that I didn’t lose consciousness.

I managed to survive the first half of the day with the help of a few Motrin and a Vente Carmel Macchiato from Starbucks. Really, it only hurt when I tried to breathe, move or blink.  I am sure that you can imagine the look on my face when it was announced that we would be working on the reformer’s after lunch. “Didn’t we do that yesterday”, I thought. Ok, I can get through this, after all, it couldn’t be any worse than what we did yesterday…..could it? 

Well,  Of course it could be.

 The piece of movement was called “progressive plies”. It was a slow, precise and progressive series of movements that involved straightening and bending the knees. You started with one inhale to straighten the knees in one movement; and then you progressed to two inhales, and you straightened the knees in two movements; and so on until you were taking 10 inhales and you had broken that one movement into ten little steps to straighten your knees one time.  It looked like it was going to hurt as I watched the first group of teachers move through the progressions, especially when Pat cued them to add “pulses”;  which involved more straightening and bending of the knees…….. except it moved  faster. “Oh, this is going to suck”, I thought to myself.

 My muscles were really too sore to be doing this, but I got the feeling that a Fletcher teacher never passed on an opportunity to participate. I am sure that there was something written in the bylaws somewhere that addressed that topic. As I  passed through the 5th progression of “progressive plies,” the possibility that I may need the aid of the paramedics or the Canadian mounted police to help me down the steps had entered my mind.

I somehow managed to survive the second day of the workshop, progressive plies and all, with the images of a hot shower, a couple of Motrin, a glass of wine, and a nice soft bed waiting for me back at the hotel.

I woke up the next morning sorer than I was the day before, which I didn’t think was possible.  My god, it hurt to sit on the toilet. I had to brace myself and take a deep breath before I made contact with the seat.  It felt like my ass was one big purple bruise, but a check in the mirror showed not even the smallest of marks. As I stood there staring at my ass in the mirror for a few minutes, I could have sworn that it looked firmer than it did the day before. Maybe it was swollen? Well, I was certain that once the swelling went down,  my ass was going to look fabulous.  I wasn’t sure if trading the ability to sit down without crying out in pain for; I was sure the next 30 days, was something that I could sell to my clients as a way to give them back the ass of a 25 year old; but maybe I could come up with a scaled down version of  the exercise.

The workshop ended and I thanked Pat and Ron for everything that I had learned while I was there, although my brain hadn’t had time to process exactly what that was yet. The next workshop was going to be in  Vancouver, British Columbia in February, 2002.

Sounded good to me….I’ll see you in February.

The whole Fletcher system took some getting used to. Every single facet of this work had a ritual. How you stand , how you sat on a machine, how you got down on the floor. Even letting the group know that the workshop was ready to start had a ritual. It reminded me of the Christmas classic “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” when the citizens of  Whoville gathered in the town square to welcome in Christmas day. In Whoville it started with a hum; in Fletcherville it started with, of course…….a breath. Pat would walk to the front of the room and begin a performance of breathing patterns. Of course her breathing was loud enough to get your attention, and one by one people would take their place on the floor and join in. Somewhat “cult-like”……sure, but it worked. After a few minutes of standing and breathing, Pat had our undivided attention. It was time to move on to the second half of the workshop; the reformer. 

I liked the method that was used to teach this work. First either Pat or one of the more experienced students would demonstrate what we were going to do; next a group of teachers would get on the reformer and perform “the piece” as they called it. In my studio I called it ”an exercise”, but whatever. The groups would rotate until everyone had an opportunity to experience “the piece”. Since my previous workshop experiences involved only one teacher demonstrating the exercise while the rest of the group took notes, the idea of getting to experience every piece of movement that I would be teaching to someone else, made a lot more sense to me.

When Pat announced that they were starting with an exercise called leg and footwork, I was thrilled. ” Oh good, something that I am familiar with” ; or at least I thought it was. Thankfully, Pat requested that the teachers that already knew ”the piece” should go first while the rest of us watched. As they started “the piece”, I thought to myself “OK, this is different.”  In my studio, leg and footwork means…… lay down on the reformer, put your feet on the footbar and go right into “the exercise”. It’s pretty straightforward. A Fletcher teacher, on the other hand, approaches the reformer from the right side of the machine; and doesn’t just sit down on the machine, but instead, prepares to sit down on the machine by performing a few knee bends (aka plies). Once seated, there is a series of precise arm movements, followed by a series of spinal flexions and extensions before FINALLY they laid down on the reformer. Of course, it didn’t end there.  Even something as simple as placing their feet on the footbar was short of a Broadway production. Pat’s commentary indicated that you needed to prepare your feet for the work they are about to do. OK, sure, why not?

So far, just getting on the reformer took about 5 minutes; apparently that was part of “the piece”. I thought, “……. in my studio, a client session only lasts for an hour, ”the piece” would definitely need some editing.”  As “the piece”continued, there were dramatic arm movements, followed by dramatic head turns; and Oh my, did they just do a high kick?  It was the first hour of the second half of day one, and my brain began to fill  again with too much information. Every single movement was choreographed down to the molecular level; it was impossible to write everything down. I stopped writing and just watched.

As the first group finished “the piece” to an enthusiastic round of applause, the second group took to the machines. Again, everything was performed with precision completely coordinated with either an inhale or an exhale.  Finally, it was time for me to take my turn on the reformer. I wasn’t sure how well I would perform “the piece” compared to the first few groups, but what’s important is that I tried…right?  Fortunately, in the Fletcher work, if you don’t get it right the first time, you get to do it again….and again….and sometimes again, until Ron and Pat are happy with “the piece”.

Rachel was a teacher that I worked with at Body Precision where I was continuing my education. She was one of the training program instructors; early twenties, a bit of a bitch, but a pretty good teacher. Rachel didn’t bother me, after all I was old enough to be her mother. She taught a lot of the continuing education workshops that were held at the studio; and I had taken all of them. Workshops were typically structured based on the “exercise script.”Pilates exercises are divided by level of difficulty; with each exercise fitting into one of five levels. Having experienced several different types of training program instructors, I found that some loved to make examples of teachers in training by setting the resistance on the machines to make the exercise as difficult as possible. It was their way of challenging a student just to see how much they can take; I guess.  I have seen teachers push trainees to the point of vomiting and once, I was left hanging upside down on the Cadillac for something called “inversions” until my hands burned and I started screaming for the instructor to get me down. It’s the Pilates version of what I refer to as a “pissing contest”. Rachel was one of “those” kinds of teachers. She was young…..insecure…..and in a position of authority…… you get the picture. Anyway, I had shared with her that I was studying with Ron Fletcher; and she just had to go to the Toronto workshop to work with him. I was happy to connect her to Pat; and Rachel started making her arrangements to go to the workshop. The only problem was that Rachel did not fly, so she was already on a train, on her way to Toronto, when she found out that the workshop had to be rescheduled for the following weekend. 

I showed up in Toronto the next weekend; and oh my, but Rachel was pissed….why; oh who knows, but she was in quite a mood. Considering the events that had transpired the week prior; I was just happy to have survived the flight. Rachel, on the other hand was whining about having to buy a second train ticket and wanted the studio who was hosting the workshop to reimburse her for her inconvenience and her additional expense.  Pat was suggesting that I talk to her about her behavior; and I was beginning to regret having suggested the workshop to begin with.

It was only my second Fletcher workshop so there were lots of new faces. Pat was introducing me to Ron’s “master teachers” who assisted Ron at his workshops. Only a “master teacher”was permitted to assist at a workshop.  It was an interesting hierarchy, but it seemed to work, and everyone that I had met so far, was fabulous.

I discovered that not every workshop taught the same material. The first workshop that I went to was specific to exercises that you would teach to your students; this workshop was specific to the teacher. Everything was broken down to the basic components of movement and then built up to make what I would call an exercise. Was it Pilates? Honestly, I wasn’t really sure, but it sure as hell was  interesting. 

At the moment we were all lying flat on our backs breathing. It wasn’t just any kind of breathing, but specifically sniffing air in through the nose and shushing it out through the mouth. Ron, and his master teachers were coming around to each one of us to make sure that our tailbones were down on the floor. I wasn’t sure why this was so important, except that it had something to do with our breathing; at least that is what I thought.

“Can you really tell if my tailbone is down on the floor just by looking at me?” I was thinking to myself as I was laying there trying to pretend that I knew what to do.  I guess so, because a short while later one of the master teachers came over to me, straddled my pelvis, and with the tip of her index finger, pushed on the front of my pubic bone until thankfully, my tailbone hit the floor. Now granted, when someone has their finger on the front of your pubic bone, you aren’t inclined to move, but believe me there are a few questions that come to mind.

“Did she just do what I think that she did?”………..”or maybe this a Canadian thing?”……………. “and when does this come up in a private lesson; immediately after I introduce myself or should I wait 15 minutes or so?”……………..These were all questions that were coming to mind while this woman stood over me her index finger still firmly attached to the front of my pubic bone.

Finally she moved on to the next person while I continued to lie on the floor, my neck  straining from all of the breathing that I was doing. I was  looking at the clock hoping for a break. This workshop was so much harder than my first Ron Fletcher workshop.  These people were serious; incredibly disciplined in the exercises, and the level of difficulty…..well, there wasn’t one. Not only that, but full student participation was expected; which I am all for, but for 2+ hours straight?! I couldn’t wait until after lunch when we would move to the equipment room where thankfully there weren’t enough machines to accomodate everyone at the same time; so at least I could observe for a bit.

By the time that we broke for lunch, I was overwhelmed with information. Just trying to digest everything that I had learned was more than my brain could handle. This was all new material; there wasn’t even a speck of a piece of an exercise that I recognized from the standard Pilates repertoire.  I could have used a few minutes to take notes and organize my brain, but “we have a lot to cover this afternoon” Pat announced as we moved on to the machines.

As general contractor, I was working on getting estimates and trying to coordinate my sub contractors, so that I could open by October 1st. Scheduling the painter to spray the ceiling black was first on the list, followed by Brian, who was putting up the walls, followed by Chico, who was doing the electrical. What was I doing? I was doing everything else. I was stripping paint, cleaning windows, walls and steel beams; and still running my studio at home. I also thought that I would fit a quick trip to Toronto, Canada in for my second Ron Fletcher workshop that was scheduled for September 14-16….why not.

My life was scheduled down to how many of hours of sleep I was allowed to have a night; which was 6, in case you were wondering.

As perfect as the space was for what I wanted to do with it; it came with a few problems. The first one was with an eight foot long section of blacktop that was laid on top of the wood floor. “Any ideas on how to get rid of this strip of blacktop?” became the standard question for every person who walked into my space. “ Can’t you just build around it?”

“Build around it????” These people didn’t know me very well. I was not giving up that easy….there had to be a way to get rid of this stuff, although the fact that paving over roadways is more common than ripping them up did come to mind.

I remembered an episode of Bill Nye the Science Guy that was teaching how you can change molecular structure by applying heat, cold or electric current. I thought to myself  ” ya know…. blacktop goes down hot….maybe it comes up the same way ”  OK…it’s worth a shot. I just happened to have a heat gun; because doesn’t everybody? Of course, mine was more of the crafting kind, but at least I could try it out to see  if it would work. A few minutes of heat and a couple of hits with the hammer and chisel and wouldn’t ya know, but I was in business. It wasn’t like I had discovered electricity, but I was feeling pretty proud of myself as big chunks of blacktop started breaking loose, thankfully leaving the floor underneath it intact. Granted, the novelty wore off rather quickly, and after about a half an hour of heating and chipping my arm was tired and I wasn’t even close to the end of the road; so to speak. Unfortunately, that strip of blacktop had to come up before I could move forward with walls and electrical which was scheduled for the second week of September.

It was now September 11th, 10 days before my zoning hearing, and I was working with Mary Ann in the studio. Steve came down stairs and announced that  ”some crazy bastard just flew a plane into the World Trade Center.”  Mary Ann and I kept on working until about five minutes later Steve came down again to tell us that the second tower was hit. When the third plane hit the Pentagon and it was announced that a fourth plane was unaccounted for, I said to Mary Ann ” I am not sure what is happening, but maybe you should head home.”

I stood with Steve; tears streaming, as we watched the towers fall. My phone ringing; clients cancelling their appoinments for the rest of the day. Not knowing what else to do and going on the hope that this was not the end of the world, I headed over to the studio to post my notice for my zoning hearing.

Living so close to Lehigh Valley International Airport, I was used to the sounds of planes taking off and landing. Today was different; it was so quiet and I was the only car on the road. I posted my sign, headed upstairs, picked up my heat gun and hammer and kept on working.

The building, formerly a sewing a machine factory, was zoned industrial and of course,  Pilates studio was not on the ”businesses that are classified as industrial” list. As expected, the first question from the zoning officer was “You need a variance for what?”  Once I finished the standard 30 minute explanation of what is Pilates, it was determined that yes, I would need a zoning variance to do that…..whatever that is. 

The zoning office informed me that the zoning hearing was held once a  month; but because of the number of zoning requests, there was a second meeting scheduled for September where my request could be heard.  The cost for the zoning appeal was 300.00, and there were a few tasks that needed to be completed prior to the hearing. The city would give me a bright yellow sign announcing my request for a zoning variance to operate a Pilates studio, that I would need to post  in a prominent location on the building for a minimum of 10 days before my scheduled zoning hearing,. This was to let the other tenents in the building know that I was planning to open a Pilates studio. In addition, I would need to mail letters to the residents in the immediate neighborhood to inform them of my request for a zoning hearing. “Really?” I asked

“……. I need to send letters to the neighbors?????…….. why?  “ The zoning officer said“…..if any of the neighbors are against a Pilates studio operating in their neighborhood, they have the right to protest at your hearing.”

Oh my, now there is a demonstration that would surely make the 10 o’clock news. I couldn’t imagine ANYONE protesting a Pilates studio opening in their neighborhood, but I was still picturing a group of neighbors, complete with torches storming the steps of city hall on the night of my hearing chanting “GO HOME JOE!………GO HOME JOE!”

I know……. I know……. it’s procedure I thought to myself as I was handed the list of people that I would need to notify.

As I turned to leave the zoning office, John, the zoning guy said, “Oh, one more thing; you will need to submit a copy of your building plans with your application…………….  My brain went…..”my what?……my building plans?  OK, well I had no clue what that was or where to get one. He mentioned something about my General Contractor providing me with the building plans…..something else that I didn’t have. 

                                                                                                                            I realized that this was going to be a bit more involved than I had expected.  

I must have looked like my head was ready to explode because John said “It doesn’t have to be anything formal; a simple sketch on a piece of graph paper to give us a rough idea of the layout, where there will be walls, and a lighting plan is all that we need”

All I have to do is draw you a picture? ……….That I can do.

I left the zoning office with a lot of new information and the title of, you guessed it “General Contractor” and headed over to “the space” to meet with my decorator, Karen.

I hired Karen to help me with the interior design elements; which up until that point, was only going to include a floor plan and what color I should paint stuff. Of course, after my meeting with the zoning office, that list had grown to include a few more construction elements that I hadn’t thought of such as walls and electricity. Things that I was hoping that Karen could help me with.

….and she did.

……………………….. but then we started on the interior design elements portion, which seemed a bit more involved than I had anticipated. Karen had expanded my very basic list of things that amounted to a little bit more than should I pick a flat or an egg shell finish to include things like………………. “What kind of lighting were you thinking about?”……………… “Do you want overhead lighting or wall sconces?”……………….. “What do you want to do with the floors?”……….maybe a Carpet?”…………”what is this strip of blacktop doing here?”…………….”Is it going to stay, because a wall would really work here”……………” Have you given any thought to where you would like your office?”……… ” I would spray paint the ceiling black”………………and the list got longer and longer.

When she got to silk vs. real palms trees, I was  ready to burst into flames.

I just stood there and looked at her for a minute and said “Uhhh…….Maybe you could draw me a picture?”

The city of Bethlehem was a cool place to put a Pilates studio. It was one of those historical towns that was filled with old mansions; it had great restaurants, cute little shops and I was expecting this building that I was going to look at to have that same historical feel, hopefully without the smell of dead mice.  As Steve and I pulled up to the front of this massive block long structure, it wasn’t exactly what I had envisioned. The building was old, but it was more like an old warehouse or sewing machine factory where they made parachutes during WWII. Dead mice? Definitely.

The location wasn’t bad………………… it seemed easy to get to………………….and there was plenty of parking.

OK, so far, from the outside of the building there was potential, now I was hoping that I wasn’t going be disappointed when I saw the inside of the building. When Steve had called the agent to set up a showing, he was asked if I was interested in finished or unfinished space. You mean I get a choice?  Of course I said unfinished.

I could hear Steve break out in a sweat. The experience that we had when we renovated the garage for my first studio wasn’t exactly the same warm and fuzzy husband and wife moments that you see on those home improvement shows. Our marriage vows should have included “never build anything together.” When it comes to building projects, we do not work well together.

I was raised by my mom, who knows how to do everything from woodworking to basic wiring. I can’t do major repairs, but I know how to handle a drill and a nail gun. Steve comes from a long line of carpenters, in fact, he was named after a carpenter, and that is the extent of his carpentry skills. I asked him to put a sub-floor in the attic so my mom and I could wire it for electricity, and let’s just say that it wasn’t good. It looked like a homeless family had moved into my attic and had nailed boards to the rafters. He was so mad at me when he found out that I ripped everything up and re-did it, so building stuff together is a “touchy” subject.

……but to get space at 4.00 a square foot….all I could say was “Really?……..”What have ya got?”

The first space that we looked at was located on the first floor and was by my definition….a dungeon. No windows, dark, damp; in terrible condition and it had absolutely no feel. It smelled weird; maybe a dead mouse. I looked at the agent and said, What else have you got? We went up to the second floor, down a long hallway, and into a section of the building that I was hoping was next on the construction schedule to be finished. This was raw warehouse space that obviously still had the original dirt from the 1950′s. About half way down the hall, across from the freight elevator, I walked into an amazing space that could not have been more perfect.

The space was just under 2400 square feet; enough room to buy more Pilates machines to offer group classes and still have space left over to teach my mat classes. Steve was still looking at the amount of work that would need to be done, while I was wandering around the room figuring out how many reformers I would be able to fit.

Huge solid glass block windows, a brick wall,  20 foot ceilings, wood floors, steel beams……and it was dripping with feel.  The owner would drywall and paint and we could do the rest. Heat was included, but electric was extra. It was the end of August and my lease could be effective October 1st, 2001. Perfect! Where do I sign?

Of course husband wanted a few days to become familiar with commercial lease agreements before he would let me commit to anything, although in my mind I was already ordering machines and picking out paint colors.

Steve enlisted the help of a few colleagues to explain to him how to negotiate a commercial lease. In a commercial lease, EVERYTHING is negotiable; the only problem was, I didn’t know what I was supposed to negotiate for. I was lost trying to figure out the monthy rent. Whoever said that you don’t use algebra after high school obviously never had to negotiate a commercial lease. You had to take the cost per square foot times the number of square feet and divide by 12 in order to calculate your monthly rent. I was certain that I didn’t do it right, because I kept coming up with 800 dollars a month….could that be right? It was.

When negotiations were finished, I was committing to 5 years with a 3 year renewal option. My lease agreement was contingent on me being able to get a variance to operate a Pilates studio, which I was told was a formality. Work could begin as soon as the lease was signed.

I was a little nervous signing my name on the lease agreement. Five years and 2400 square feet was not only a bigger financial commitment, but I needed to come up with more clients to pay the rent.  Right now, 300 square feet on the first floor of my house was easy. If things don’t work out, I can close my studio and go back to waitressing.  A five year lease agreement doesn’t give me the option to fail.

I stood in the middle of my new studio looking around at my 4 bare, unfinished walls thinking about what needed to be done first.  The size of the space was suddenly overwhelming and I started to cry. Oh my god, what if this doesn’t work out?  Steve came over, wrapped his arms around me and said ” then you’ll do something else”

I thought buying a building was a better investment than renting. After all, I had the perfect setup. Steve sells real estate. I have access to technology that can pull up every single available property on the market at my fingertips. But, looking for a property with your husband “the realtor”  is not as much fun as it sounds. Steve is a realtor who specializes in investment properties so he is looking at ”realtor stuff.” Things like:

How old is the roof? What condition is the heating system in?  Is the property up to code and what is the potential income of the property?

I am looking for a feel.

I think that we looked at hundreds of listings. Of course the ones that had a ”feel” had no parking, or they were in a terrible location, or they required  tens of thousands of dollars of work. I looked at single properties and store fronts; old buildings and new ones. Properties that were zoned residential would require a variance to run a business. A variance required a township meeting, and a township meeting could take months to schedule. Not only that, but some townships were easier to work with than others and I was learning very quickly what townships I definitely did NOT want to go to. I loved those old historic buildings and Steve hated them.  When I found an old mansion in Easton that I thought was a steal for only $100,000 (and yes, it was a real mansion) Steve just shook his head while I tried to convince him to at least take a look at it………………“but honey, it has a ballroom and a butler’s pantry” Steve’s response “Sure, it probably needs about a million dollars worth of renovations”. I was trying not to focus on that part. We couldn’t agree on what to look at, but finally we put together a list of potential properties that Steve would at least consider.

The first property that we looked at was one of those old historic buildings circa 1800′s. It was  old and it smelled  like mold and dead mice. I would make Steve go into the basement to check out the heating system and the panel box. It had a feel alright, but it was cold and creepy, which was  probably due to the dirt floor in the basement and the fact that I watch  too many scary movies. The next 4 properties were more of the same. Ok, maybe old isn’t the way to go. Moving on to properties built in the 1950′s.

The location was good and the property was on the end of the row. Plenty of parking and getting a variance looked like a formality since there were several doctors offices and small businesses located in the same neighborhood. The property was a 2-unit. I could set up  my business on the first floor and the rent from the second floor would help to pay the mortgage.  It seemed perfect. The first floor tenant  was there when we arrived. She was apologizing for the mess as we walked in the……..Oh   my  goodness!

Mess didn’t even begin to describe it. Usually, when someone is interested in selling their property, they remove the clutter, clean it up a little bit;  you know give it “curb appeal”.  Of course, tenants could care less which was the case here. Steve and I were standing in a room surrounded by boxes stacked 3 high and in some places the boxes were stacked from floor to ceiling. All that was left was a path wide enough for one person at a time to pass to the next room. If I didn’t know better I would have thought that I was at a Goodwill drop off point. There was an enclosed front porch that was so full of stuff that we couldn’t get the door open to even take a look at it. The tenant was explaining to us how she runs her business from her house and that is why it is so cluttered. “Oh” I said “what do you do?” She replied “Well, I make bibs for babies and bandanas for dogs” I was smiling and nodding at her as if I was genuinely impressed with her little hobby gone wild. Meanwhile the inside of my head was saying ”you make what?” Seriously, there was enough fabric here to provide bibs for a kingdom of babies and bandanas for every dog in the state of Pennsylvania. I was stepping over more boxes as I made my way into the kitchen which was filled with more of the same. Even the steps that led to the basement were so full of stuff that there wasn’t  enough room for anything wider than a foot. This could have been the perfect location, but who could tell? Back to square one.

Out of the dozen or so properties that Steve and I had looked at, there wasn’t a single one that had potential. Not only that, but I had just been turned down again for a business loan so that eliminated the idea of buying a property; leaving renting as my only option. One of my clients gave me a lead on some great warehouse space located in Bethlehem. She said that the rent was cheap and the space would be perfect for a pilates studio. I thought “Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to take a look.”

The next Ron Fletcher workshop was being held in Toronto, Canada September 14-16 and I promised Ron and Pat that I would be there……but, what should I do in the meantime?

Ron told me to “teach what I know” which was pretty much nothing at this point. Pat had given me a sheet of towel exercises that she told me to practice until I could get to another workshop. OK, that sounded reasonable, but what type of towel should I use? Pat told me that “you could either take a regular bath towel and fold it the way that I showed you”, or you can buy a braided towel from  “the towel lady” (whose real name is Diana). I decided that the braided version seemed a lot less bulky and looked a lot fancier than the folded version. Sounds good; “I’ll take two”

It was time to head home; towels in tow, and start planning for my next workshop.  I was going to be the first Pilates teacher to introduce “Towel Work” to the Lehigh Valley. Hurrah for me and all, but seriously, I hadn’t a clue what I was doing. It seemed simple enough………you hold on to the towel at either end and you pull….sounds pretty basic, right? Somehow, I was convinced that all I would need to do was to repeat the same verb-age that Pat and Ron used in the workshop and the miracle of towelwork would do the rest.

Well……not exactly. I came bouncing into my first day back at the studio overflowing with information and  my clients were not necessarily eager to learn something new. They had just learned the first way of doing Pilates and now I was going to change it. Thinking back on it, maybe it would have been better if I introduced bits and pieces of the work instead of the full court press.  I was hitting them with a new way to breath, stand, move and a weird little braided rope that obviously had spent it’s previous life hanging on a towel bar in someones bathroom. It was way too much information for the average person to take in all at once.

I think that I was afraid that if I didn’t at least try to start teaching some of the new material to my clients, that I would forget it. Honestly, I didn’t know enough to begin to share it with a client, but I was avoiding the obvious at the moment. Ron’s work was going to be better for me as a teacher and for my clients. It never once crossed my mind that I had only been doing it for a week and that I might want to road test the program first to make sure that it was safe. It never occurred to me to check out Fletcher’s story to see if he was who he said he was. All I knew was that I had been to the mountain and the mountain was Ron Fletcher………..oh and he did stuff with a towel.