He built a global empire helping people have fun and burn calories.
It took four trips from his native Colombia to Miami before Beto Perez got his big break. The fitness and dance instructor simply wanted to bring his workout classes to America. But with little money and even less English, he couldn’t get fitness-center managers to watch his Latin-dance-inspired videos.
Beto Perez Zumba Contra Costa
Finally, in 1999, one manager said, “Teach me.” Caught off guard, Perez asked, “Only you?” Yes, she said. It was 3 p.m., and the gym was empty. Soon a passerby wandered in to watch, then two, three, four. “After 20 minutes,” says Perez, “I had about 15 people. They thought it was a new class and wanted to sign up.” Recognizing Perez’s sharp choreography, charisma, and energy, the manager invited him to teach a Saturday morning class.
But on the first day of class, Perez got stuck in traffic. “I was ten minutes late,” he says. “I didn’t know how to say ‘I’m sorry,’ but I played the music, and they loved it.”
That tends to be the reaction to Perez’s fitness program, called Zumba (pronounced “zoom-ba”). The hour-long classes alternate easy-to-follow fast dance moves with slower ones for an interval-training workout that tones muscles and burns hundreds of calories. When the music starts pumping—salsa, merengue, reggaeton—people forget they’re exercising. And that just may be the secret to Zumba’s success.
Ten years later, five million people take classes every week from 30,000 certified instructors in 75 countries, from Canada to China. More than four million DVDs have been sold, and Zumbawear has taken off (the $64.95 cargo pants are the top seller).
Perez, 39, is now creative director of the privately held Zumba Fitness. His success is all the more impressive given the obstacles he’s overcome. Raised in Cali, Colombia, by a single mother, Alberto “Beto” Perez was just 14 when his mom was injured by a stray bullet. To help support them, he worked three jobs.
All the while, he dreamed of turning his passion—dance—into something more, but he couldn’t afford lessons. (Perez says he saw the movie Grease when he was seven or eight, “and I knew I wanted to dance.”) What he lacked in formal training, though, he made up for in raw talent. At 19, he won a national lambada contest. One of Cali’s best academies called with an offer to study dance while teaching step aerobics.
One day, Perez forgot the music for his class. He had one cassette with him—Latin music he’d taped from the radio. “I improvised,” he says, “and that was the beginning of Zumba.”
Once the popular instructor got his break in Miami, would-be investors started approaching him about opening a gym. One of Perez’s students asked him to meet her son, Alberto Perlman. At 24, Perlman was doing market analysis on startups for an Internet incubator with his childhood friend Alberto Aghion (an operations guy) and watching his career options disappear with the dot-com crash. Perlman (now CEO of Zumba) hit it off with Perez immediately and recruited Aghion as COO and president.
With no money or experience, the partners needed to showcase Perez’s talents. They spent a night laying down plywood boards on Sunny Isles Beach, then invited Perez’s students to take a $20 class that they would film and show to potential investors. But after September 11, 2001, all leads dried up. Eventually, they made an infomercial, which sold about a million DVDs in six months.
When asked about revenue, Perlman is tight-lipped: “We don’t disclose figures, but it’s in the many millions.” The partners say they’ve barely tapped the possibilities for the business. “We’re releasing a Nintendo Wii game in 2010 and adding to our Zumbawear line,” says Perez. “Expect to see our first sneakers soon!”
(As seen in November Reader’s Digest).