A couple of weeks ago, I got my first DEXA scan. I wanted to know my bone density and for $139 and 30 minutes, it seemed worthwhile.

But I didn’t realize I’d be making a cameo in what could have been an episode of Silicon Valley…

I show up to my scheduled appointment about 5 minutes early. As I walk up to the office, there are three guys in their mid-20s sitting at a table. As I open the door, one rushes over to me and says “Oh, you must be Elizabeth. You’re early. But um, you can sit on the couch over there.”

That’s when I realize that one of the guys at the table must be the client before me and they are talking about his scan results and personal health. It feels awkward and inappropriate to sit on a couch in the same room during this conversation, so I just wait outside.

When I signed up, the company’s website looked polished and professional, and their signup flow couldn’t have been easier (with plenty of availability). But from the bench I’m waiting on, I can see the whole one-room office space. There is a front desk, the couch, the DEXA scanner, and the table where the guys are sitting. There’s a pop up privacy screen between the table and the front desk, but it’s definitely a one-room startup.

I realize these guys must have raised enough money to buy a DEXA scanning machine, rent office space, and make a website. Kudos to them.

I am finally called in. Their website said to wear tight fitting clothes, like a sports bra and shorts for the best scan results. It feels a little weird to take off my sweatshirt in front of a street-level picture window in downtown Palo Alto. But I rationalize it isn’t really any different than if I were to do the same for a yoga or pilates class. Whatever.

So I lay down on the machine. But then I start wondering if they cleaned the mat between the last client and me… I lay still and try not to think about ringworm. The scan takes about five minutes and during this time, one of the guys is asking me what I do for exercise and how often I work out. I’m mildly flattered that he seems so interested in my workout routines.

The scan ends and he grabs the printout of my data. I put on my sweatshirt and shoes and join him at the table in front of the picture window. He breezes through the bone density findings and returns to asking about my fitness habits and health goals.

Now, I know I’m supposed to be lifting weights more often, and that’s part of why I wanted to know about my bone density. But I am in decent shape and I’m not really grasping why we are talking about fat loss and muscle gain. In answering his questions, I stumble into talking about perimenopause. But his stiff expression and rapid blinking make me realize the topic clearly makes him uncomfortable.

I am confused and in trying to make sense of all this, I interrupt and ask him what their monetization strategy is. Because running one-time bone density scans for middle aged women and then talking with them about their overall fitness doesn’t seem like a killer business model…

Then it all clicks into place. The $139 DEXA scan is just the carrot to get people in the door. We are talking about my fitness because they sell a subscription-based, customized fitness program, combined with follow up DEXA scans. So, as the guy emphasizes: they are a data-driven healthcare startup. 🙄

Now, I can’t help but be skeptical about how they are creating their proprietary fitness programs. Because if I were them, I would just create a customGPT for each client where I’d input their data and ask it to create a 4 week fitness program to target X, Y, and Z. By doing that, they could even claim to be a data-driven, AI healthcare startup.

But I hold my tongue. I ask the guy for a digital copy of my scan and he says no, they only provide a paper copy. So I suggest they should consider offering a digital version of the information — not only are digital files expected, but they would also be more convenient and sure to be appreciated by many customers.

Without moving his pen, he responds “I’ll make a note of your feedback.”