My day as a guinea pig in one of the world’s most expensive gyms

The $10,000-a-month New York fitness centre Continuum aims to boost members’ longevity

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It’s close to 10am on my day as a guinea pig at one of the world’s most expensive gyms and I’m lying in a hospital gown on top of a futuristic-looking gurney with a robotic arm looming above me.
Within moments the DXA machine (dual-energy X-ray absorptiometry) has measured my entire body composition.
Shortly after, I am trying desperately to stay on a treadmill with a space-age mask wrapped around my face for a VO2 Max test, which tracks how much oxygen your body absorbs.
If I were a member here at Continuum, then this data would be fed into the company software, which would churn out a personalised health programme.
The $10,000-a-month fitness centre in Manhattan’s Greenwich Village is where New York’s elite undergo a catalogue of biometric examinations so AI can tell them how to live.
Users who make it through are presented with their “digital twin” – also called the “orb” – a green ball which glows if all is well and fades into pockets of grey if there are areas you need to work on.
The orb divides into six categories including cardiovascular health, cellular health and cognition.
The centre then tracks in real time – using wearable devices – how members respond to everything from its cold plunge pool, Finnish sauna and hyperbaric oxygen therapy – where you step into a Star Wars-esque chamber pumped full of 100 per cent oxygen.
There’s a sleep pod, where clients can go to nap, a floatation therapy room, which is like climbing back into the womb, and red light therapy.
It’s like “a really sexy lab”, Jeff Halevy, Continuum’s founder, tells me.
I’m gasping for air as I jab my finger at the red box at the end of the laminated scale which reads “your body is screaming at you”.
“You want to stop? Are you sure?” the trainer – sorry, I mean “human performance specialist”, asks in a sympathetic tone.
I nod my head as vigorously as my space-age face mask allows, trying desperately not to be thrown off the treadmill.
The newly opened 25,000 sq ft wellness club – frequented by a raft of celebrities and Wall Street executives is – part of the burgeoning “longevity economy”, which is worth an estimated $8.3 trillion in the US alone.
Continuum, thought to be among the most expensive gyms in the world opened its doors in May, hot off the heels of Equinox introducing its $40,000-a-year “EQX Optimise” membership, which also offers members a string of tests.
“We don’t have a buffet here. A lot of places have all the doodads and gadgets, and, you know, there are other locations that will have a red light and sauna and cold plunge, our model is not just simply access to a buffet, we have a blueprint and it’s a bio individual blueprint,” Mr Halevy says.
“I never refer to us as a gym. We have a gym here… and it’s only one of the levers that we have available for wellness and preventive health.”
He adds: “In theory, it should extend lifespan and health span, but I don’t like leading with that message.”
“So how long they might live?” I ask.
Mr Halevy bristles, saying longevity is “crystal ball territory”, but gives an example of how it might be able to tell someone that unless they drink two litres of water and have a nap they have an 80 per cent chance of having a migraine tomorrow.
“Now, does that make someone live longer? I don’t know. Preventing the occurrence of migraine, I would think, is less stressful, so at least in theory, maybe you live longer, but you definitely live better, right?”
He adds this can be extended to help female fertility, but refuses to disclose any further details.
“What I will say is this, that at the end of the day, a large factor when it comes to fertility is physiological state and stress”, he says.
The gym also boasts relationships with a network of key players in the city’s healthcare industry.
Need a referral to one of the city’s top doctors who is impossible to see? Continuum can get you an appointment.
The exclusive club, which caps off at 250 members, already boasts a waiting list twice over despite its price tag, which works out as almost double the average salary of a New York City resident.
Mr Halevy, a former television host who worked on Michelle Obama’s childhood obesity campaign, says the roster of A-list clients who splurge on a membership value their health and their privacy.
“You will not see people whipping out phones for selfies”, he says.
“You will not see individuals trying to take a photo with somebody. We have a number of household names in here, and so the whole idea is to be able to come in here and not fear that you’re going to be on Instagram.”
“The reason that the price tag is what it is is because of the level of service integration and ultimately, value that we provide,” Mr Halevy says.
“I’m not doing this to make it expensive, to be cool. All these things cost money. We’re in New York, by the way, real estate’s not cheap here, so there’s a confluence of factors that ultimately help us arrive at a price.”
The essence of exclusivity runs through every aspect of Continuum. The gym is set in a listed building in the heart of one of the most sought-after areas in New York, round the corner from where I once spotted Jennifer Lawrence strolling on a Saturday. It boasts a bouncer who has one of those squiggly ear pieces who already knew my name when he opened the door for me this morning.
The club is set over two floors. Upstairs you’ll find the gym kitted out with Kaiser equipment, which uses air pressure instead of weight stacks for resistance. The top floor is about “expending energy”.
Downstairs, meanwhile, is for “cultivating energy” – with spaces for sleeping, massages and floatation therapy.
As well as state-of-the-art facilities, members can enjoy a full lunch menu (today’s offering includes Faroe Island wild salmon, red wine boneless braised beef short rib and lamb orecchiette) as well a lounge area to hold meetings on cream boucle armchairs.
As we walk into the kitchen, I spot a stack of buttery, flaky almond croissants displayed on a cake stand.
“Does anyone eat them?”, I ask.
“Some people do,” Mr Halevy replies. “It’s ok to indulge a little… this isn’t a dictatorship.”
While the membership is $10,000-a-month for unlimited use of the facilities (plus a $10,000 initiation fee), training sessions and treatments, there are lower membership tiers starting at $1,000-a-month for access to the club, with treatments and training sessions offered “a la carte”. Nearly half of the current members are on the top membership tier.
As I wander towards the treatment rooms on the ground floor, I mention that I’d like to have tested my mettle with the cold plunge but didn’t bring a swimsuit. By the time I emerge from my red light therapy session – which feels like lying down in a tanning booth without the heat – someone has run out and bought me one.
Continuum’s general manager then helps me into the vertical tank in the women’s changing rooms. She tells me to keep my hands stuffed under my armpits and lock eyes with her as I descend into the bitingly cold water.
As she continues to proffer motivating statements – “you’re doing amazing! You’re almost there” – I am amazed to have managed to stay submerged from the neck down in the 3C water for two minutes.
The short term plan for Continuum is to expand to other major markets, such as Los Angeles and Miami, areas where there are also plenty of deep-pocketed people concerned with clinging on to their vitality.
But the longer-term goal is to launch an app in 2026 which gives the mass-market access to its software for as little as $10 a month.
After my cold plunge I race to the sauna, where I slowly regain the feeling in my toes and the tingling feeling prickling my skin turns to a blissful warmth.
In spite of the brutal VO2 Max test, I walk out of Continuum feeling relaxed and energised.
Despite my breathlessness, when I received the results from my test, they were much better than I was expecting and the “human performance specialist” greeted me with a mini round of applause.
How did I achieve it? A $150 pair of Hoka running shoes, the odd Barry’s Bootcamp class and a fair share of almond croissants.
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