Growing up on England’s south coast, I spent as many days as possible outside with my friends, kicking a ball around until the sun set. Play grew into a love of sports and competition, especially against myself: I was always chasing a new personal best. 

I dreamt of becoming a gym teacher, but when I started working at the age of 12—bussing tables, delivering newspapers—I found the same sense of purpose and satisfaction in work as I did in sports. I wanted to study economics and history in college, but growing up in a single parent household, we couldn’t afford it. Instead, at 17, I started working in the U.K. grocery store chain Waitrose. Quickly hooked by the clear goals and constant motion the job offered, I joined the company’s junior leadership program, staying with them for about three years. 

I spent my early twenties working hard and earning promotions, hopping from one position to another. By 26, I had worked my way up to divisional manager at multimedia and electronics conglomerate Thorn EMI, in charge of 300 retail stores. When the chance to work abroad arose, I took it. After briefly working in the U.S., in 2000 I moved to Toronto to lead RTO Enterprises—now GoEasy—which leased domestic furniture and household goods on a rent-to-own model. I was told the company was in rough shape, but I saw potential. 

Unfortunately, I hadn’t grasped how rough their situation was: my onboarding was a company executive tossing a 100-page brief on a hotel table and “Email me if you have any questions.” The company was in deep financial trouble, and I was the guy in charge of fixing it. Almost nothing in my career has since topped the stress I experienced during this time. 

Exercise became my release valve, a necessity to get through the day. I was going to four or five different boutique fitness studios across Toronto—Moksha for yoga, Soul Cycle for spin, Ultimate Athletics for high-intensity interval training (HIIT) and boxing, and Totum Science for personal training. Nowhere offered all of them in one space. Most fitness studios made customers bring their own mat and changing areas were an afterthought. I didn’t like lugging equipment with me all day, rushing in early to get my spot in a class, before needing to rush out after. Studios promised their customers a community, yet there was no place to stay, stretch and talk to people after the class. 

By 2018, I’d transitioned to executive chairman of GoEasy. I’d played my part: it was time to pass the torch of CEO to another and start something of my own. I decided to build the kind of studio I wanted to go to—one that prioritized user convenience and comfort above all else. My place would offer HIIT, spin, and yoga all under one roof, with high end hotel-inspired change rooms and a central community hub where visitors could flow from class to recovery seamlessly. It would take into consideration young, urban professional women who found traditional gyms intimidating, but who wanted exercise to double as a social experience with friends. 

I scouted at least 15 different spaces before landing on our first location at Yonge and Shuter in downtown Toronto. My branding advisors told me it was cursed: the over-100-year-old location had housed a revolving door of failed businesses. But I fell in love with it. I saw a gorgeous Victorian red brick building with a sweeping staircase, high ceilings, and enough room to put each workout studio on its own floor—spin in the basement, HIIT on the ground floor, yoga on the top. It was also close to where our target demographic lived and worked.

I had trademarked the name, Sweat and Tonic, in 2017. My favourite drink is a gin and tonic, and I liked the play on words: sweat for the workout, tonic for the recovery in the spa. My marketing team hated it. They told me no modern business could survive with a two-word name. I told them I’d give them six months to convince me otherwise—and I’m still waiting.

We opened in November 2019. Three months later, COVID hit. Up until then I felt fearless, but doubt crept in. We had to pivot fast. We offered online content and park workouts, and something totally new: outdoor classes on top of the Eaton Centre parking garage. We built spin and HIIT spaces on the roof, open-air and safely distanced. It was a chaotic time, but it forced us to be innovative.

Today, Sweat and Tonic has two Toronto locations: our inaugural Shuter Street location near the Eaton Centre and another in Toronto’s pedestrian-friendly, mixed-use complex the Well. We have about 3,200 bookings a day: 3,000 in the fitness studios and about 200 in the spa. We run over 400 classes a week between the two sites, at nearly 80 per cent capacity. Most of our weekend classes have over 100 people on the waitlist. We exceeded $23 million in revenue for the first time in 2024.  

I’m not chasing a number, though. Entrepreneurs love to throw around future valuations—they all say it’s going bottom-left to top-right. It’s bullshit bingo. What matters is that both employees and guests show up and they love what you’ve built. Right now, I own 100 per cent of Sweat and Tonic. But I’m considering licensing the model to franchisees who will own the facility and be entitled to profits, but we’d maintain the quality of the brand by hiring the staff, setting the standards, and running the day-to-day operations —similar to the Four Seasons model. 

Related: How I Went From Player to the Head of Hockey Operations for the PWHL

By 2026, we anticipate running three new locations: one in Toronto’s affluent and designer-centric Yorkville, our first US location in Silver Springs, California, and an offshoot of Sweat and Tonic, REFORMD, which will exclusively focus on Lagree Method workout classes next door to our Well location.  

I’ve been in Canada for more than 25 years and I’m now a citizen. I’m proud to be a Canadian. I love Toronto. I still go back to England every summer, but Toronto is home. Canada rewards hard work and opens its doors to people who want to build something. At GoEasy, I worked with employees from 72 different nationalities. That mix of perspectives and influences doesn’t just make a company stronger—it makes a country stronger. I came for a three-year posting and ended up building a life here. That kind of story only works in a place that embraces possibility.

—As told to Lindsey King