The Invisible Gym That Saved My Sanity

You know that feeling when you're scrolling through Google Maps, desperately searching for something that doesn't look like every other corporate fitness franchise? Yeah, that was me last year. Stuck in lockdown purgatory, watching my jiu-jitsu skills slowly deteriorate like a houseplant I forgot to water.

I'd been grappling for a decade. Not bragging—just context. And if you've ever done jiu-jitsu, you know it's less of a sport and more of a... lifestyle? Obsession? Expensive form of therapy where people try to strangle you? All of the above.

But here's the thing about muscle memory: use it or lose it. And during those endless lockdown months, I was definitely losing it. Fast.

So there I was, doom-scrolling through Facebook (because apparently that's where I get my life recommendations now), when I stumbled across something called CrossFit Firefly. No website. No Yelp reviews. No carefully curated Instagram feed with ring light selfies and motivational quotes in Comic Sans.

Just... a Facebook page. That's it.

In 2021, finding a business without a proper digital footprint felt like discovering a speakeasy. Suspicious? Absolutely. Intriguing? Also absolutely.

The Anti-Marketing Approach That Actually Works

Here's what I've learned about gyms: the shinier the marketing, the more hollow the experience. You know the type—LED lighting, motivational murals, and coaches who look like they were cast from a fitness commercial. Everything's perfect, which means nothing's real.

CrossFit Firefly was the opposite. No glossy photos. No "transformation Tuesday" posts. Just people doing work.

And honestly? That absence of digital polish was the most compelling marketing they could've done. Because when was the last time you found something genuinely worth your time that was trying desperately to get your attention?

I showed up expecting... I don't know what I expected. Maybe a garage? A storage unit with some rusty barbells? Instead, I found a real gym. Not Instagram-real. Actually real.

The Difference Between Teaching and Transforming

My first session was with Ferdinand Thieriot—a name that sounds like it belongs in a 19th-century novel, which somehow fits perfectly. Guy used to be a glass blower. Now he's a trainer. Career pivot goals, honestly.

But here's where things got interesting. (And by interesting, I mean he immediately called out my terrible form in the most educational way possible.)

You know how some coaches just throw corrections at you? "Keep your back straight!" "Engage your core!" "Don't die!" Generic stuff that bounces right off your brain because you've heard it a thousand times.

Ferdinand didn't do that. Instead, he said something about redistributing weight across my feet rather than just the balls of my feet. Simple, right? But the way he explained it—like he was sharing some ancient secret rather than barking orders—suddenly everything clicked.

And I mean everything. Not just my feet. My entire posterior chain. My understanding of how bodies work in space. It was like someone had been whispering instructions in a language I didn't speak, and suddenly I had a translator.

Three weeks later, I was hitting clean sets with form that would've made my jiu-jitsu coach proud. Not because I was stronger (though I was), but because I finally understood what I was doing.

That's the difference between teaching and transforming, I think. Teaching gives you information. Transforming gives you comprehension.

The Underground Network of People Who Actually Care

Ferdinand runs this place with his wife Tracy, and if you're picturing some power couple with matching athleisure and protein shake sponsorships, you're way off. Tracy's background is in modern dance and ethnic studies. She talks about entropy being her default state, which is possibly the most relatable thing anyone's ever said about fitness.

They're both Breaking Muscle readers (points for good taste), and they credit Chris Holder's kettlebell instructionals as formative influences. Which tells you something about their approach—they're students first, teachers second.

Tracy and I connected immediately over movement philosophy. She does CrossFit not to look a certain way or hit specific numbers, but to understand her center of gravity better. To explore how strength translates across disciplines. As someone who's spent years thinking about body mechanics through a martial arts lens, this made perfect sense.

At 5'11" with what's politely called an "ectomorph body type" (translation: I look like I could be snapped in half by a strong breeze), I've always been interested in functional strength over aesthetic strength. CrossFit, as it turns out, is excellent cross-training for people who specialize in other movement arts.

Which I probably should've figured out earlier, but better late than never, right?

The Circle Technology Nobody Talks About

Here's where things get a little... philosophical? Tracy and Ferdinand have this concept they call "circle technology." And before you roll your eyes at what sounds like new-age fitness nonsense, hear me out.

It's about energy transference. The idea that when you're suffering through a workout alongside other people—really suffering, like "why did I think this was a good idea" suffering—something happens. Support flows. Pretenses drop. People cheer for strangers.

You've probably experienced this if you've ever done group fitness. That moment when everyone's equally miserable but somehow that shared misery becomes... not misery? Connection, maybe? Solidarity?

But here's what makes it work: authenticity. You can't manufacture this feeling. You can't script it or market it or optimize it for engagement. It either happens or it doesn't.

At Firefly, it happens.

Maybe because the owners aren't trying to build a brand—they're trying to build a community. Maybe because there's no pressure to perform for social media. Maybe because when you've seen everyone at their most vulnerable (and trust me, there's nothing more vulnerable than failing at a burpee), you might as well put in the real work.

What Lockdown Taught Us About What We Actually Need

When lockdown hit, something interesting happened. The members asked the gym to stay open. Not demanded—asked. Like you'd ask a friend for a favor.

And Ferdinand and Tracy fought to keep their doors open. Not for profit margins or retention rates, but because their community needed them. Because sometimes a gym isn't just a gym—it's a lifeline.

This is the part where I could get preachy about the importance of human connection or the failure of digital substitutes for real experience. But honestly, if you've made it this far, you probably already know.

We tried virtual workouts. Zoom classes. Home gyms. Apps that promised to replace everything we were missing. And some of it was fine. Adequate. Better than nothing.

But adequate isn't what we're really searching for, is it?

The Hidden Gems in Your Own Backyard

I've been thinking about this a lot lately—how the best things are often the least visible. The restaurant without a website that serves the best food you've ever had. The artist who doesn't do social media but creates work that changes you. The gym that's too busy doing good work to worry about looking good online.

We live in a world that equates visibility with value, marketing with merit. But what if the opposite is true? What if the things worth finding are the things that aren't trying to be found?

CrossFit Firefly didn't market to me. They didn't target me with ads or slide into my Instagram feed. I had to actively seek them out, make a choice, show up.

And maybe that's part of what made the experience meaningful. When everything is served to you algorithmically, when choice is removed from discovery, when recommendation engines predict what you want before you want it... finding something yourself becomes an act of rebellion.

The Questions Worth Asking

So here's what I'm wondering: What are you actually looking for when you're looking for a gym? Is it convenience? Results? Community? Transformation?

Are you seeking the comfort of familiar marketing messages, or are you willing to venture into spaces that don't immediately make sense?

When was the last time you chose something not because it was recommended to you, but because it called to something deeper than your consumer preferences?

I'm not suggesting everyone abandon their current gym and search for underground CrossFit boxes. (Though honestly, that sounds like a pretty good adventure.) But I am suggesting we pay attention to what draws us and why.

Because here's what I learned from my year at Firefly: the things that change us rarely look like what we thought we wanted.

They look like Ferdinand, calling out my form with glass-blower precision. Like Tracy, talking about entropy and center of gravity while programming burpees that make me question my life choices. Like a community that formed not around shared goals but around shared suffering and support.

Like a gym that saved my sanity by refusing to be anything other than exactly what it is.

Your Turn to Find the Invisible

Maybe there's a Firefly in your area. Maybe it's not a CrossFit box—maybe it's a martial arts dojo, a climbing gym, a dance studio, a running group that meets at dawn in some park you've never noticed.

The point isn't the specific activity. The point is the willingness to look beyond the obvious choices, to value authenticity over convenience, to choose connection over comfort.

Because in a world that's increasingly designed to keep us isolated and consuming, finding real community becomes a radical act. And sometimes the most radical thing you can do is show up somewhere that doesn't have a five-star Google rating.

Sometimes the best things are hiding in plain sight, waiting for someone brave enough to knock on doors that don't have perfect signage.

The question is: are you brave enough to knock?