What four weekends at my gym taught me about presence, narrative, and the cost of

absence

Over the past several weeks, I’ve been thinking about what it means for leaders to show up —

in person and in spirit — during times of transition. I work out regularly at three branches of the

same fitness chain: New York, Naples, and Westport. In one month at the Westport studio, I

watched a small business lose control of its narrative, and then its customers, for one reason:

no one in charge was in the room.

Week One: The Soul of the Studio Leaves

I showed up for my usual Sunday class and learned that the “Soul of the Studio” had resigned.

That wasn’t his actual title — I don’t know what his title was — but he greeted every member

by name, answered every question, and made the place feel warm. I had always assumed he

was the manager. He wasn’t. There was a manager, I was told, but she was rarely around. I

figured he’d found a better job and wished him well.

Week Two: Small Cracks

The bathrooms were messier. Supplies weren’t restocked. The person behind the front desk

was friendly but clearly temporary. Still no leader in sight to fill the void.

Week Three: The Shocker

Both Saturday coaches announced they were leaving. “Well, I hope my Sunday instructor is

staying,” I said. “He left too,” came the reply. With no one there to shape the story, the

departing coaches filled the silence themselves. They told us they had no idea who would be

taking over. No one from management was there to wish them well, reassure the room, or

offer a plan.

Week Four: Silence

Normally, when an instructor changes, the studio emails us ahead of time. This week, we

arrived not knowing who would teach. It was the outgoing 8:30 coach’s last Saturday, so he

taught both back-to-back classes. The front desk was empty. The bathrooms were unstocked.

The manager was nowhere to be seen. And there was no word about what would happen the

following week.

In the absence of leadership, customers write the story themselves — and

it’s rarely the story you want told.

What the Silence Cost

By week four, the regulars were openly wondering whether the studio was going out of

business. We started comparing notes on alternatives. One member — only half-joking —

suggested we band together and buy the franchise ourselves, because surely we could run it

better than this.

That’s what absence costs. Not just dirty bathrooms and missed emails, but trust. Once

customers start building their own narrative to fill the silence, the brand is no longer yours to

shape.

The Fix Is Simple

The solution to this kind of chaos isn’t complicated. It’s leadership — the physical, visible,

present kind.

From the moment the front desk person resigned, a senior leader should have been on-site

every weekend. Not to clean bathrooms or teach classes, but to do the three things only a

leader can do: own the narrative, honor the people who are leaving, and get to know the

customers who are staying. A handwritten note. A five-minute announcement before class. A

name on the door and a face in the lobby.

None of that is expensive. None of it is hard. But none of it happened — and a loyal community

of paying members is now quietly planning its exit.

Leadership isn’t an email. It’s a body in the room and a voice that says,

“Here’s what’s happening, and here’s what we’re doing about it.”

Transitions are the moments that define a brand. Handled well, they can deepen loyalty.

Handled with absence, they unravel in a month. The opportunity here is gone, and the damage

is done. The lesson, for any leader watching, is worth keeping: when things change, show up.