When city planners in Fence Lake City revised their master plan in 2019, they weren't just updating zoning maps—they were attempting to redefine how a mid-sized American city integrates physical activity into daily life. The result, four years and $14 million later, is a network of three interconnected facilities that officials and urban designers are calling a test case for "modern movement": the deliberate blending of exercise infrastructure with social space design, environmental connectivity, and equitable access.
This isn't gym-building as usual. And after three months of interviews with architects, city officials, and the residents actually using these spaces, it's clear the experiment is working differently than anyone anticipated.
What "Modern Movement" Actually Means Here
The term risks sounding like marketing fluff, so let's be specific. In Fence Lake City, modern movement refers to three design principles baked into the 2019 master plan: multipurpose programming (no single-use facilities), environmental transparency (physical and visual connection to outdoor space), and demographic universality (explicit design for users aged 8 to 80).
These weren't abstract goals. The city council attached measurable targets, including a 40% increase in recreational facility access for underserved neighborhoods by 2024. They hit 43% last spring, according to Parks and Recreation Director Elena Voss.
The Three Facilities: A Breakdown
The Meridian Wellness Complex (2022)
The first and largest of the three, the Meridian Wellness Complex occupies a former warehouse district on Harbor Street that sat vacant for nearly a decade. Designed by Portland-based firm Morrow Architecture, the 34,000-square-foot building houses what project lead David Chen calls "deliberate friction"—intentional moments where different user groups intersect.
The ground floor operates on a sliding-scale membership model, with free hours every Tuesday and Thursday morning. Upstairs, the facility's "movement library" lets members check out equipment ranging from kettlebells to portable slacklines, a program Chen borrowed from tool-lending libraries in European cities.
"The question was: what if a fitness center functioned more like a public library?" Chen said. "We're seeing people who've never belonged to a gym treating this as their third place."
The building's east-facing wall is entirely operable glass, folding open to a rain garden and outdoor training deck from April through October. During a September visit, I watched a 7 a.m. HIIT class, a seniors' balance workshop, and a teen parkour group sharing the outdoor space simultaneously, separated by nothing more than planters and implicit social negotiation.
The Riverside Movement Lab (2023)
Opened last spring in the city's historically Latino Riverside neighborhood, this 12,000-square-foot facility was the direct result of community meetings where residents repeatedly requested climbing access and aquatic therapy options—neither of which existed within city limits.
The 40-foot climbing wall, visible from the street through floor-to-ceiling windows, has become an unexpected neighborhood landmark. More surprising is who's using it: 34% of members are over 50, according to facility manager Rosa Okonkwo, many drawn by the adjacent warm-water therapy pool designed for joint conditions.
"My doctor suggested swimming, but I hadn't been in a pool since I was a kid," said member Patricia Delgado, 67, who joined with her granddaughter last June. "Now we climb together on Saturdays. I never imagined this."
The Lab's location was deliberate. The 2019 master plan identified Riverside as having the lowest recreational access in the city, with no dedicated facility within a 20-minute walk for most residents. The city purchased the site—a former auto repair shop—through eminent domain in 2020, a controversial decision that drew protests and, eventually, a community benefits agreement guaranteeing local hiring and Spanish-language programming.
The Pandemic Pivot: Harbor Park Training Zones (2021)
The third facility wasn't planned at all. When COVID-19 closed indoor spaces in 2020, the city fast-tracked outdoor training zones in Harbor Park using federal relief funds. What began as temporary—weatherproofed equipment pods with reservation-based access—proved so popular that the city made them permanent in 2022.
These zones function differently than the indoor facilities. Users book 90-minute slots through an app; pods include covered strength equipment, open floor space, and Bluetooth-enabled audio systems. The model has drawn attention from planners in Minneapolis and Austin, who have sent delegations to study the reservation and maintenance systems.
"Outdoor fitness was trending before COVID, but the pandemic forced us to solve problems we would have ignored," Voss said. "How do you maintain equipment in freeze-thaw cycles? How do you handle liability for unsupervised use? We made expensive mistakes so other cities don't have to."
The Social Fabric Claim: Testing the Thesis
The article's original draft asserted these facilities serve as "social hubs where people of all ages
