Les Mills, the titan of group fitness and former Olympic athlete, has died at 91. His passing marks the end of an era when physical culture was a moral crusade, not a branded commodity. Mills, a New Zealander, built an empire on the British tradition of discipline and communal exertion—think Victorian drill halls, not selfie mirrors.
His BODYPUMP programme, a fusion of barbells and choreography, became the catechism of gyms worldwide. Yet I suspect he would have been repulsed by the modern wellness industry: the influencers, the supplements, the narcissistic individualism. He was a man of iron will and modest virtue, a throwback to a time when fitness meant national service, not personal branding.
His death should remind us that we have turned his legacy into a pale imitation: a world where people sweat alone in boutique studios, watched by strangers on screens. The group dynamic, the shared struggle, the rhythmic collective—that was his genius. And we have lost it, buried under hashtags and neon leggings.
So raise a barbell for Les Mills. But do it in a crowd, not a corner. That was his point.
