San Jose Mercury News (CA)

April 11, 1999

MANAGEMENT TRAINING SILICON VALLEY'S BIG-BUCKS EXECUTIVES, SEEKING A COMPETITIVE EDGE, PAY TOP DOLLAR FOR PERSONAL INSTRUCTION

Author: MICHELLE QUINN, Mercury News Staff Writer

Silicon Valley has a new mantra: survival of the fittest.

Nowhere is that more evident than at Axis, a 2-year-old Menlo Park gym that caters to an elite clientele by serving up the latest wisdom on quads and abs -- for $60 an hour. Here, power brokers humbled by flab and hobbled by aches are testament to the new truth. The bank balance of a winner doesn't cut it anymore; now, you need the body to go with it.

On a recent afternoon, Michael Moritz, 44, a seasoned venture capitalist, breaks out in a light sweat on a stationary bike as he multi-tasks, watching televised CNBC stock reports and scanning the Wall Street Journal.

Nearby, Jim Bagley, CEO of chip-equipment maker Lam Research, 60, manages push-ups with one foot balanced on a ball, the other in the air. His executive secretary, Rocky Picasso, 45, is nearby, poised like a seal on a gigantic green plastic ball.

While his trainer helps stretch his arms, Douglas Whitman,41, grimaces. The portfolio manager for a $100 million investment fund steals a line from Tom Wolfe, joking he is working off the ''soft underbelly of success.''

''Fitness is a competitive weapon in the business rough-and-tumble,'' says Moritz. He visits Axis three times a week for one-hour sessions with Kellie Moylan, his athletic trainer. ''Axis is my regular battery booster,'' he says.

Fitness long has been a California obsession. These days, newly rich are equipping their houses with $20,000 of athletic gear and paying trainers for home visits. And there are at least seven gyms in a five-mile radius of Axis. But what sets Axis apart is its killer application: providing experts on the human body to a clientele that values knowledge. Its 17 trainers, recruited worldwide, are former national athletes, trainers for professional sports teams and college teachers of sports medicine. They've even dissected a cadaver to hone their skills.

Axis is a gym only Silicon Valley could invent. The concept dates to 1996 exercise sessions when Scott Norton was training Louis Borders, co-founder of Borders Inc., the bookstore chain, to increase his jump for basketball. During workouts, the two brainstormed about an upscale gym offering clients individual attention, with special sensitivity to injuries.

Teamwork

Borders introduced Norton to his daughter Christine, then 22. At Louis Borders' Los Altos home, the two hatched Axis at the kitchen table. They conducted market research, then got seed money from Christine's dad, though Borders declined to name the amount. With little fanfare, Borders and Norton opened Axis in the former Menlo Market, a mom-and-pop grocery located across the tracks from the Menlo Park train station.

Since, by word of mouth only, Axis has expanded to 400 members and a waiting list dozens deep. To encourage busy Silicon Valley professionals to put aside office work for the workout, clients must book sessions and forfeit the $60 if they don't cancel with 24 hours' notice.

''It's hard to have the discipline, but I'll go to keep my appointment,'' says Ellen Siminoff, 31, Yahoo Corp.'s vice president of business development and strategic planning.

When Siminoff walked into Axis 18 months ago, she couldn't lift a two-pound weight. She had spent most of her time working and used her home exercise bike to drape clothes. Prodded by her husband, David, an investment banker with Capital Research Co., Siminoff now attends Axis three times a week and can curl ''a big one.''

Clients approach their workouts with all the seriousness of a board meeting. And for some, the workout is business. ''The company depends on me,'' says Bagley. ''They pay me very well. I have an obligation to remain as fit as I can to do the best job I can do.''

At first, competitors doubted there was sufficient demand. The gym takes no more than 10 people at a time, and one recent afternoon, only four customers were working out. ''They've taken an upscale approach to high-end personal training,'' says Gordon Bliss, vice president of operations at Fitness 101, with gyms in Menlo Park and San Jose. ''I guess there's a market for everything.''

Now, Borders and Norton are seeking a second round of funding. Borders boasts profitability -- unlike the Internet companies many of her clients run -- and in the next year plans to open four new sites in Silicon Valley and possibly in Marin County. Naturally, they expect to go public.

Between bench presses, Axis patrons dispense unsolicited but welcome tips on how to pitch to venture capitalists. Some have even offered to review Axis' books.

Besides this unofficial cadre of financial advisers, the gym has an advisory board of human-body specialists, including an orthopedist, a physical therapist and an endocrinologist.

To be sure, Axis has snob appeal. It doesn't look, smell or sound like a gym. No one shouts, ''Come on, five more.'' The place is more akin to an upscale cafe with exposed heating ducts, slate-floored bathrooms, daffodils in glass bowls, a white couch and a black mini-fridge filled with bottled water, juice and Gatorade.

Necessities stocked

The women's restroom is stocked with necessities for a rushed executive or frazzled mom: razors, mouthwash, body lotion, a jumbo jar of ibuprofen pills, contact lens re-wetting drops, toothpaste and a large comb in disinfectant solution. The men's stocks spray deodorant and shaving cream. When a few clients complained, management supplied thicker towels. The call has gone out for more Q-Tips and better razors. Oh, and the Top 40 background music was nixed for classic rock. And turn down the volume.

No one, however, would mistake Axis for a fashion runway. The closest anyone gets to making a statement is wearing their company's T-shirt.

''You may be worth $100 million, but your gym shorts say that you are 20 pounds overweight,'' says Joe Gillach, a marketing executive who wears shorts and T-shirts from defunct companies. ''Gym shorts are the great leveler.''

Even in this s elf-indulgent getaway, the outside world intrudes. One client recently bolted at 6 a.m. to watch the televised CNBC stock ticker. Trainer Tracey Gropper, calling on her previous life as a trainer for professional rugby teams, grabbed his shoulder and led him back to the weights.

When customers spot business colleagues or celebrities like former San Francisco 49ers Coach Bill Walsh, there might be a wave or a nod, but interrupting a workout is implicitly forbidden.

Trainers well-trained

The real celebrities at Axis are the 17 trainers. Steve Saxe, 30, once Stanford University's strength and conditioning coach, is earning a master's in biomechanics, exercise and physiology at San Jose State University. Ashley Selman, 28, was on her way to the Olympics as a javelin thrower when she developed a shoulder injury. Instead, she earned her master's in sports psychology.

Gropper, 25, has worked as an athletic trainer for the Southern Rugby Football club in New Zealand and the Corinthians rugby team in Galway, Ireland.

Donned in muted brown Polo-style shirts and sweatpants, trainers are sensitive not to show off their buff muscles and rippling abs to their physically challenged clients. ''It's not about us,'' reminds Norton at a recent staff meeting.

They earn in the low $40,000s a year for a 30-hour workweek, on the high end for trainers, industry experts say. While trainers don't take tips, clients have been known to lavish them with frequent-flier miles or tickets to sports events.

For their own training, trainers attend regular classes by local specialists on such topics as knee injuries and cardiovascular disease and jet to educational sessions around the country. Last year, they dissected a human cadaver's shoulder (off-site), and there are plans to do the same with knees, ankles and backs.

''When you can actually go inside and see what the tendons look like, what the muscles look like,'' says Norton, ''it changes how you train an individual.''

Copyright (c) 1999 San Jose Mercury News
Record Number: 9904140230