KEY POINTS:
Some of the things I knew about Phillip Mills before going to see him include that he is very rich, that he is regarded as something of a marketing whiz, that he markets gym programmes around the world and that they have names like BodyPump and Buns Like
Iron (I made that one up.)
That he lives in a beautiful, big house in Herne Bay with a swimming pool and tennis court. That he is the son of former Auckland mayor Les and that his gyms are, of course, the Les Mills ones, started by his dad.
That he created a thing called Exertainment, which sounds ghastly to me but which gym bunnies like because it involves, I think, lots of ra-ra stuff and loud music.
And that he has now, with wife Jackie, who is a GP and co-creator of the gym programmes, put together a book called Fighting Globesity: A Practical Guide to Personal Health and Global Sustainability.
It is fair to say that this is not a book for people like me. In fact, it rather gave me the hump and I wondered whether he might too. I thought he was likely to be a mix of ra-ra gym fanatic and ra-ra marketing man and that I would leave wanting to throw myself off the nearest bridge (a) for being exercise-averse and (b) for using the dryer all the time, which in his scheme of things would mean that I should feel guilty for being fat and destroying the planet.
"I don't want people to feel guilty," he says, looking horrified. "I want them to get off their bums and do something."
I thought he would be evangelical, I suppose. And he is, a bit. He is an obsessive sort, that much is obvious before you meet him, so at least he should be interesting.
He comes out to greet us and points to a hole in his veranda so that I don't fall down it. I like people with holes in the veranda. Especially in the verandas of houses that should be posh. His is a nice family home with a formerly grand chaise longue (now a bit shabby) and old prints of New Zealand landscapes he's picked up, not because they're worth anything but just because he likes them.
He is, yes, intense and earnest - he is one of those people who maintains eye contact and never blinks - but not at all hyper or exhausting. He speaks very quietly, and is contemplative, and so sweetly concerned about what I think of his book that it was endearing.
I told him, as a joke (hmm, sort of), that it made me want to go and eat three pies, six doughnuts and leave all the lights on. I'm sorry I did that; he looked so upset and I'm sure his no doubt very healthy heart is in the right place.
He is not, though, a relaxing sort to be around. He may be, in different company. He was quite wary and was always looking for landmines, I think. When I compliment him on his superior networking skills - he got the PM to endorse the book - he examined the remark from all angles, then managed, "Well ... I ... it's ... I don't know ... Thanks!"
He can be a bit snippy. When I said, "This book's a good way to get more people into your gyms", he said, "I don't care if you think that".
Then he backtracked and said he did care because "you have the ability to tell our story and you can tell it in a way that will enhance our credibility or detract from, so, yes, I do care what you think".
That was even worse because, although we both know we're here because books need plugs, I'm not his agent.
Still, perhaps I could be. I thought, later, based on the fact that he's always buying up carton-loads of books he likes and sending them to people, that he could make people read the book at the gyms while they're exercycling away.
He ignored this so I said, "I thought that was quite entrepreneurial. Don't you think that's a good idea?"
"No, it's not a bad one. I just don't want to give you any fuel for the fire. But we're certainly going to be trying to get the gym members to read it."
HE'S going to be putting his money where his heart is, and is putting a lot of energy (and presumably money) into coming up with a blueprint for "the ideal sustainable gym. Then we are going to spend whatever it takes over the next few years completing greening our own gyms. But not only that, the blueprint we create we plan to release to the industry worldwide."
He's a very good businessman so surely this also has to be good for business. "I hope so. But whether it is or not I don't actually give a damn."
He's 52 and is experiencing - according to me - one of those very 21st-century mid-life crises that for rich men used to involve flash cars and now involves wanting to leave a better planet behind.
He says, "yes", he has enough money now and that although he has always sought a "moral justification" in his career, he's not now pushed by the "stronger materialistic drive" of his younger years. He thinks this happens to quite a few people as they get older.
He has been, he says, probably somewhat ruthless in business. "I think there's certainly been times in my life when, you know, I would have liked to have treated people better than I did."
He's such a health guru now that one part of his career that really interests me is the short period in the 70s when he managed Hello Sailor in Los Angeles. It was while we were talking about this that I decided I liked him very much. He spoke about Graham Brazier with real tenderness and respect for his talent.
It is hard to imagine Mills taking drugs and being wild but he says, oh, yes, he did and was. "Yeah, I grew up in the 60s and 70s and like a lot of the generation I did it all. You do things when you're growing up that maybe you regret later but you do them, and you have a damn good time at the time."
There is a section in the book about exercising either because you believe in some sort of God or because you don't. I wondered whether he might be quite religious now. He certainly is about exercise, and plenty of people who had that "damn good time" are taken that way.
This section reads: "If you believe in a higher being, exercise because your designer came up with a wonderful body for your spirit to live in and you should look after it." This is followed by (and having it both ways, surely): "If you're an atheist, choose to exercise because it will help determine the kind of world you pass on to your children and your grandchildren."
I had never thought of exercise in such terms and I wanted to know whether he exercises - and he does, every day - because he's a believer or not a believer?
He sighs and says, "Michele, you know, I don't want to alienate any particular audience. That's why we covered everyone." Well, except agnostics. He might have alienated them.
"Have I? Have I? I don't want to alienate any audience because I feel that the cause is such an important one, I really don't want to turn anybody off. So, you know, I could say nasty things about certain world politicians and I could say things about religious beliefs. I'd rather not. If you insist ... Umm, I'd rather leave it to your discretion but I'd prefer not to [say]."
He'd prefer, obviously that I ask about the book and not about him, and I did. I asked what this meant: "Choose to exercise as an act of political will. Don't let yourself become the prisoner of a collapsing health system, in which one of the primary causes of death is poor medical treatment."
You'll have to buy the book to find out (there you go, Phillip, you can't say I didn't give it a plug) because his reply went on for 10 minutes and gave me the hump again. So I said, "I don't care. I'll be dead."
"I actually don't believe you, Michele," he said. He thought I was just playing devil's advocate, and it's possible I was. It's also possible that 10 minutes can feel like a very long time.
He says the last thing he wants to do is be preachy, and he isn't, not really.
He's just an obsessive type, and his latest obsession is wanting you to help him help the planet.
And you can't help but like him for that.
