Barry’s Bootcamp is next-level
Barry’s Bootcamp’s tough-as-nails workout lands in Houston
Barry’s Bootcamp instructor Pinij NaLampoon dances between the rows of women writhing on black yoga mats. They’re doing planks and burpees, push-ups and biceps curls, squats and lunges. Basically, changing positions every 60 seconds as NaLampoon barks out different exercises.
“Yes, it’s hard!” he shouts above deafening pop music, rolling his eyes playfully. He’s half-teasing, half-taunting the small mob of 20 or so bodies panting heavily in Tootsies’ gown-roomturned-makeshift-gym. “It’s supposed to be hard. Accept that it’s hard. And move on.”
A few members of the class inhale sharply midcrunch — did he really just say that?
Tough love is part of his charm. And besides, it’s for their own good. If the group contorting before him is part of a Barry’s Bootcamp pop-up that promises “a taste of the Red Room to prepare you for the real deal,” then NaLampoon is serving generous samples. Barry’s — with locations in 11 states and countries as far flung as Qatar — is known for its sexy red lighting, high-energy music and celebrity clientele.
Invitations to the VIP sneak peek, orchestrated by general manager Megan Cushing, sounded innocent enough. How difficult could a “warmup” be?
Most expected heavy stretching. Maybe some light cardio ahead of the official Barry’s Bootcamp studio opening in the River Oaks Shopping Center on June 29.
They were mistaken. NaLampoon, a SoulCyle instructor and Page Parkes model with 10,000 Instagram followers, is taking no prisoners. The bleached-blond local celeb of sorts has sass for days, perfectly sculpted quads and a reputation to uphold. He’s relentlessly motivating and produces muscle-defining results.
“It’s swimsuit season,” NaLampoon coos as he tells his subjects to tighten those leg raises. “Really
squeeze if you want bikini buns like two scoops of butter pecan ice cream.”
In one corner, a DJ blasts Lady Gaga, Beyoncé and Usher. Half a dozen of NaLampoon’s fellow instructors sing along, sliding in and out of choreographed reps without missing a beat. Every so often, they’ll correct someone’s form or remind bootcampers that quitting is not an option.
It’s an intense fishbowl. Designer athleisure outfits and “no-makeup” madeup faces are sweat-soaked within minutes. Even the seasoned yogis, recreational boxers and Pilates-reformer addicts struggle to keep the pace.
“Get after it, Lexi,” NaLampoon yells, singling out Lexi Sakowitz, one of his SoulCyle regulars. “You’re getting married, girl!”
The crowd cheers. And with all eyes on her, the bride-to-be digs deep.
She’s a SoulCycle ride-or-die who’s #sheddingforthewedding. Two spin classes in one day? Piece of groom’s cake. At last count, Sakowitz has tapped back more than 340 times and can survive a 45-minute spin class without ruining her blowout. She often graces the cycle instructors’ podium, ever the model of perfect technique.
But this is next-level. Post pop-up, Sakowitz and her younger sister, another NaLampoon diehard, consider canceling their afternoon cycle session. Neither had anticipated that a floor workout could be so challenging. They whip out their iPhones and debate whether or not to release their reserved bikes.
Sakowitz smooths her damp ponytail and admits, “That was
In other words, she’s hooked.
The real thing, a 50minute, high-intensity interval training workout, is even tougher. It’s designed to push participants to their limits and reportedly burns 700 to 1,300 calories per session.
No wonder the block lettering etched on Barry’s Bootcamp doors proclaim it’s the “best workout in the world.”
“We don’t waste any time pretending it isn’t challenging. Nothing in life is easy,” says Barry’s Bootcamp CEO Joey Gonzalez. “But you’re there to do the work, and so it flies by.
Bootcampers have two options: the original HIIT workout, which is half strength training (floor work) and half treadmill, or double floor work for nonrunners. Either way, instructors introduce a new move approximately every 60 seconds.
The goal is to never stop moving. You’re either sprinting on a treadmill; sprinting from a treadmill to a mat; or hopping from a mat onto a step platform. At any given moment, you might need a resistance band, medicine ball or free weights — so it’s best to keep all three on-hand.
The right playlist is equally critical. That’s why instructors curate their own high-decibel soundtrack, to drown out any self-doubt.
And the Red Room’s low-lit signature hue?
“Anonymity,” Gonzalez explains. “People come here so they can disappear.”
It’s not the kind of place where people gaze at their own reflections. Everyone faces a treadmill, not the mirror.
“This is a place where people meet their best friends,” Gonzalez says. “Fitness has started to replace social clubs and has become a lot more than just a place to work out. It’s a lifestyle.”
Ten years ago, Megan Cushing fell in love with Barry’s Bootcamp while she was living in Los Angeles. Her first class was at the original West Hollywood location with some girlfriends. During her reign as former captain of University of Southern California’s women’s soccer team, she led the Trojans to clinch an NCAA Division I championship in 2007.
“Then I met my husband and transitioned out of that athletic role I was in. That was really hard on me,” she recalls.
Her husband, Brian Cushing, played defense at USC before signing on with the Texans from 2009 to 2017.
“Barry’s has been really good for getting me back into that world,” she says.
When Megan heard that the franchise was finally coming to Houston, she connected with the company’s vice president of operations immediately.
“I wanted to be involved. As big or small of a role as they needed, I wanted to be part of it.”
That was November 2018. Three months later, she was named general manager of Barry’s Bootcamp Houston.
“Barry’s finds people that they like, who fit the lifestyle and the brand, and creates roles for them. It’s how they’ve been successful.”
The raven-haired mother of two cuts a striking, recognizable figure around the studio — though it’s not always glamorous work. Sometimes the job calls for client meetings or squeezing people into classes. Other times she’ll mop the floors and wipe down mirrors to make sure the Red Room is ready. There are day-today operational duties like hiring and payroll, too.
Her super power is part maternal instinct. She has a knack for coaxing beginners into their first class.
“Look, it’s an intimidating workout,” she says. “The most common thing I hear is, ‘I’m not a runner.’ Then they take their first class and realize it’s not so bad. After a month they’re running a 9 (on a 0 to 12.5 scale) and totally love it.”
It’s a team effort, she says. No one is judging, they’re cheering each other on.
And nothing builds camaraderie like a strong pour. For such occasions, Barry’s Bootcamp boasts a private label rosé and a standing partnership with Don Julio. The in-studio Fuel Bar may list performance-enhancing smoothies and protein shakes on its menu, but after-hours hangouts and community events are all about the Barry’s Bootcamp trademarked signature cocktails.
“I want one of our ‘will run for tequila’ shirts,” Megan laughs. “They’re all sold out right now.”
It’s part of the brand’s work hard, play hard mantra. Because the studios never close, they’re open 365 days a year, fun is a necessary release from the #nodaysoff grind.
“We’ll all hang out in the lobby and have a drink together,” Megan shares. Her work with the Cushing family’s eponymous nonprofit foundation has given her some ideas for future events. “In the fall, we’re working on Texans tailgates and making fitness part of your whole life.”
After 21 years of launching studios nationwide, Barry’s Bootcamp’s “pragmatic approach” to expansion finally applies to Houston, according to Gonzalez. “We go wherever our loudest and rowdiest customers exist.”
And whether that’s a boutique back room, River Oaks Shopping Center or outside NRG Stadium, the response is clear: Bring it on.
“We don’t waste any time pretending it isn’t challenging. Nothing in life is easy.” Barry’s Bootcamp CEO Joey Gonzalez