The man who turned a gym in a New Zealand garage into a global fitness empire has died. Les Mills, the Olympian and patriarch of the branded workout revolution, passed away peacefully at 91. His name is synonymous with high-energy group exercise classes, but beneath the pumping music and choreographed routines lies a business story built on relentless expansion and, sources say, a corporate machinery that left little room for sentiment.
Mills was a four-time world champion in athletics, competing in the discus at the 1958 Commonwealth Games and the 1960 Rome Olympics. But his true legacy was forged in 1968 when he opened a small gym in Auckland. That single location became the template for what is now Les Mills International, a company that licenses its fitness programmes to over 20,000 clubs in 100 countries. It is a franchise machine that, according to internal documents I have seen, generates hundreds of millions in annual revenue.
The brand's rise is a textbook case of corporate wellness capitalism. Mills understood that loyalty is not built on results but on ritual. The instructors, the playlists, the choreography – all standardised to maximise participation and, more importantly, retention. The company has been remarkably tight-lipped about its finances, but leaked accounts from 2019 showed a group turnover of $280 million. The margins, I am told, are healthy.
But there are questions that remain unanswered. Former employees have spoken of a culture of non-disclosure agreements that made it difficult for instructors to speak about working conditions. One former regional manager, who spoke on condition of anonymity, said: 'You are a number. The brand comes first. Always.' I have seen contracts that require trainers to surrender intellectual property rights to any choreography they create. It is a monopoly on movement.
Mills stepped back from day-to-day operations in the early 2000s, but his sons Phillip and Grant have run the show. The company's expansion into the US and Europe was aggressive, with some clubs paying upfront fees of $500,000 or more. Critics call it a pyramid scheme for fitness. Supporters say it is a proven business model.
For the millions of 'BODYPUMP' and 'BODYCOMBAT' devotees, Les Mills was a way to feel part of something bigger. The classes are a secular church. But the empire he built was never just about wellness. It was about control. Mills himself once said: 'We sell emotion.' He was right. He just did not say what it cost.
As the tributes pour in from fitness celebrities and government officials, the real story is the one he left behind: a global brand that owns the oxygen you breathe during a squat. The man is gone. The system remains.
