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Armand is the kind of person who makes an impression fast—quick with a joke, quietly determined, and unmistakably proud of the work he puts in. He’s 31, and when you ask him what ZOOZ means to him, he doesn’t overcomplicate it.

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“It’s a gym and a second family as well,” he says. 

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That sense of belonging didn’t happen by accident. For Armand—and for his mom, Beth—finding the right fitness space wasn’t just about equipment or workout plans. It was about safety, dignity, and a place that truly understands what it means to meet someone where they are.

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The “parent underground” that led them here

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Beth found ZOOZ the way many parents of people with disabilities find life-changing resources: through what she calls “the parent underground.”

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“The parent underground is trying to navigate interventions and services that are available that are not talked about,” she explains, “because it all requires funding strategies about how to get services for our loved ones.”

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About five years ago, that underground network brought them to ZOOZ—back when it was still in its earliest location. Armand remembers the small space and the group classes. Beth remembers something else: the relief.

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“I really wanted both my boys to have the love of fitness,” she says. “But Armand has special needs. I was never very comfortable with a regular gym.”

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Armand has autism and also has epilepsy. The combination changes what “normal gym anxiety” can look like—because the stakes are higher.

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“He needs to be in a safe environment,” Beth says. “If he has a seizure, he needs support around him. And that was not going to happen at a regular gym.”

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When Armand trained elsewhere, Beth says her baseline feeling was simple: “Anxiety.”

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“At other gyms, I felt like an outsider.”

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Before ZOOZ, Armand did what a lot of people do: he tried the big gyms. More than one space, more than one attempt to make it work.

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“It was okay,” he says of his experience. But when asked about the difference between those gyms and ZOOZ, Armand doesn’t hesitate.

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“The big gyms are only for the neurotypical,” he says. “But ZOOZ – it’s inclusive… everyone is included.”

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At the other gyms, he says, the discomfort built over time. The pressure felt heavier. The environment wasn’t made for someone who needed understanding built into the experience—not as a special request, but as a baseline.

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Beth noticed that weight too.

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“A lot of gyms have kind of this ‘meathead mentality,'" she says. “Sometimes you [talking to Armand] didn’t come home feeling all that good about yourself because there were certain things there that weren’t accessible.”

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At ZOOZ, she says, it’s different for one main reason: “Everything—there’s a way to access everything here.”

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For Armand, that shift is emotional as much as it is physical.

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“Before, I felt like an outsider,” he says. “With ZOOZ, everyone’s kind of in the same boat.”

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Training with epilepsy means training with awareness

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Armand is open about what it means to live with epilepsy while trying to build strength and confidence.

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“With my epilepsy, I have seizures,” he says. “I wear a medical bracelet… usually when I have a seizure, I don’t remember the last thing that happened.”

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He also shares something many people wouldn’t think about: “Increased heart rate triggered seizures.”

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That one detail changes everything about training. It’s not just “push harder.” It’s knowing when to pause—especially when Armand himself might not remember to take breaks.

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“Sometimes he doesn’t necessarily remember, ‘Oh, I needed to take a break,’” Beth explains. “So that can happen and your heart rate could be rising, and you might have a seizure because of that.”

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That’s why private sessions matter.

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“I think for us, it’s best that he has the private sessions,” Beth says, “Because he has to have somebody who is aware and gives Armand the breaks that he needs.”

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Jared: “He’s a beast.”

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Armand’s trainer, Jared, who is also ZOOZ’s Fitness Director, has known Armand since his early days taking group classes at ZOOZ’s first location in Encino. He’s trained him one-on-one for about two years—and it’s clear he genuinely enjoys the work and the relationship.

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“I’ve known him for as long as I’ve been at ZOOZ,” Jared says. “He’s always been a stud and super capable. He always wants the harder version. He’s a beast.”

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Jared’s favorite part isn’t just Armand’s athletic ability—it’s what has changed around it.

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“His progress is coordination and strength, endurance,” Jared says, “even his confidence in himself and how he holds himself, how he talks to other people. That’s been really cool to see.”

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Fitness, Jared believes, builds more than muscle.

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“Social awareness and confidence has a lot to do with that,” he says.

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Their sessions are full-body and playful—serious training, but never joyless. Jared says he always makes sure to “kick his butt,” while keeping it fun and safe. They train foundational movement patterns, rotation, all planes of motion, injury resilience—work meant to support a full life, not just a workout.

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“He’s a young man,” Jared says. “I want to make sure he’s injury-free and he can jump into sports… pretty much anything.”

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Four Bear Square and the power of being seen

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Ask Armand his favorite exercise at ZOOZ and you’ll get a smile.

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“There’s something that Jared calls… Four Bear Square,” he says.

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It’s a drill where Armand moves through a square—forward, backward, left, right— sometimes based on color cues Jared calls out. The physical challenge is real, but the neurological engagement is just as important. Beth lights up talking about it.

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“It’s very impressive,” she says. “It’s not just physical. The trainers here know how to have a neurologically rich kind of workout too.”

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Jared laughs when he hears Armand’s enthusiasm—because Four Bear Square became a thing in a way that’s very “them.”

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“I needed help coming up with a name,” Jared says. “I was rhyming and he started cracking up. So I just kept drilling that in. Now it’s something he remembers.”

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That’s the heart of it: Armand is not just coached—he’s known. His humor matters. His preferences matter. He is treated like a whole person.

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And that whole-person approach shows up everywhere at ZOOZ.

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Beth gives a shout out to ZOOZ founders Jake and Shahar for creating a space that “comes through” with consistency and care—something she doesn’t take lightly as a parent.

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“When you have a child with disabilities,” she says, “you kind of feel like it's easy for the world to ignore them or have their needs come in last. And then when you find a place like ZOOZ…”

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Her voice catches. 

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“It’s not a small thing to feel your child is safe—and valued.”

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A gym that adapts to you

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One of the most powerful lines in Armand’s story is also one of the simplest.

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At ZOOZ, Beth says, “You don’t have to fit in here. The gym will fit for you.”

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For adults with disabilities, that matters. Beth describes the post-school years as “real tricky,” especially when someone ages out of systems and supports. Finding community, structure, and consistent opportunities isn’t guaranteed. ZOOZ becomes more than a gym—it becomes a place to belong.

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Armand feels that belonging in his bones.

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“It’s nice – the social aspect of being here,” he says. “Everyone’s easy to talk to.

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At ZOOZ, you can be yourself.”

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“He took it to heart as a leader.”

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Jared has seen Armand become more than an athlete. In group classes, Jared noticed some athletes’ goals were simply to make friends, to connect, to feel less alone.

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“So I’m like, ‘Armand, do you mind giving them a high five? Motivating them?’” Jared says.

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Armand didn’t brush it off.

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“He took that to heart as a leader,” Jared says. “He was giving them high fives, uplifting them, showing them how to do the movement.”

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To Jared, that’s Armand at his best: intelligent, warm, playful, and quietly powerful.

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“That’s my guy right there,” he says. “A lot of love for him.”

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Living a full life—on his terms

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Outside the gym, Armand has a job he enjoys at Funko Hollywood, working part-time . He’s a fan of Funko Pops and laughs about his collection—hundreds of figures filling his room. It’s a reminder that Armand’s life is big and specific and joyful, not defined solely by diagnoses.

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When asked what he wants people to know about ZOOZ, Armand says it plainly:

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“It’s better than any other gym out there.”

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But his deeper answer comes when he’s asked about his hopes—for ZOOZ, and for himself.

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“I hope that [ZOOZ will] eventually have different locations… cover the world,” he says, imagining more cities, more people with disabilities able to find a place like this. “And less of the other gyms.”

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For his own future, Armand keeps it simple and true.

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“Live life and continue going to ZOOZ,” he says.

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Beth’s hope echoes his: “I hope he lives a full life—and that he can grow old with a place like ZOOZ.”

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Because at the end of the day, this is what matters: a gym that becomes a safe, steady place to grow.

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A place where Armand can show up, put in the work, crack jokes, push himself, take the breaks he needs, and be supported exactly as he is.

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Not an outsider.

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Family.

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