CINCINNATI — Lauren, our instructor, calls out from the middle of the cramped, mirror-walled room as everyone quietly stretches.

“Later in class, we’re going to do a new move, sort of a variation on the burpees we’ve done before,” she says. “You’re gonna come down and do two pushups, unless you want to do four pushups with the beat of the music. That’s pretty tough, but maybe some of us over here can handle that.”

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Lauren exaggerates a head nod to the conspicuously imposing figure in the corner of the room. Luke Fickell smiles sheepishly.

“She must be talking about me,” Amy Fickell jokes. We’re huddled in a barre studio on the east side of Cincinnati, the wife of the Bearcats’ head coach flanked by her husband on one side and me on the other. Luke and I are the only men in a class of about 20.

I have only myself to blame for this record-scratch moment. A day earlier, I made the mistake of asking Amy what she liked to do for fun, for herself, and if I might be able to tag along and join in on the experience — a sneak peek into the psyche of the First Lady of Bearcats football. Her answer was a barre3 class that she does three times per week, a full-body workout that combines cardio, core-strengthening and mindfulness set to upbeat dance music. Think of it as Zumba crossed with yoga, with the intensity cranked all the way to 11. The class’ 9:15 a.m. start time was an accommodation for my sake. Amy normally attends the 6 a.m. session.

“You’ll be fine,” Amy said a day earlier, attempting to allay my doubts. “What we should really do is invite Luke. He’s done it with me before.”

Luke’s response when he arrived the next morning: “I can’t believe you roped me into this.”

Entering his fifth season at the helm of the Bearcats, the man has achieved deity status in the Queen City for reviving (and remaining committed to) Cincinnati football and hoisting it into rarefied air within the sport. The Bearcats finished eighth in the country in 2020, nearly pulling off an upset of Georgia in the Peach Bowl, and enter the 2021 season in the top 10 and with a potential path to crashing the College Football Playoff. Amy, as a result, has earned a starring, supporting role in the hearts of Bearcats fans as the proverbial coach’s wife who runs things on the homefront and does her best to keep Luke informed of life beyond the football field, and — most important for UC fans — she has helped tether the Fickells to Cincinnati. But to truly know Amy is to understand why she would willingly subject herself to this level of toil at 6 a.m., multiple times per week.

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There is a selflessness required from the spouse of a coach — any coach — but particularly a head coach of Luke’s status. It demands a ridiculous degree of independence and a willingness to build and balance your schedule around theirs. You have to be a partner, assistant, cheerleader, confidant, sounding board, therapist and safety net. Inevitably, coaching the team becomes your life as well. Too often, your time is not your own, a reality only exacerbated by six children, which the Fickells have.

All of which forces Amy to create tiny pockets of “me” time each day. There’s an hour or so in the morning, as early as 5 a.m., when she wakes up before everyone else to pray, check emails and get caught up on news. Some days that’s coupled with running the steps at Nippert Stadium; others include the 6 a.m. workouts.

“It’s my serenity, a little bit,” Amy says. “I’m a physical therapist by trade, though I haven’t been back in a clinic for years, but it incorporates that mentality of fitness paired with overall mental well-being. That mind-body workout is fabulous. That’s what I need.”

There’s a fine line between serenity and agony, as evidenced by my feeble, flailing body trying to keep up with the regulars in the class, clinging to a pilates ball like a life raft at sea. Football coaches tend to glorify the grind of their job: endless hours of film, constant recruiting calls, practices scored by clattering shoulder pads and sharp blasts from whistles. But that’s nothing compared with holding a “beast plank” for 30 seconds when you’re completely exhausted.

By the midpoint of the workout, Lauren hasn’t eased off. Luke is struggling to keep up. I’m struggling to stand up. Amy, however, is cruising right along, the only inconsistency being that she usually does this three hours earlier.

Frankly, having six kids is paltry to Amy, who grew up the eighth of 10 children in Spencerville, Ohio, a tiny, one-stoplight town about 80 miles north of Dayton.

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“My mom was a saint,” Amy says. “Yeah, six is nothing.”

Her father was a dairy farmer, and every summer, his children trained cows to show at the annual fair. It was not Amy’s favorite pastime.

“We were in 4H, so we had to train the cow out in the country and then take him into this fair, in this rink with sawdust and city water, which made them sick,” Amy says. “I’ll never forget — I was in fifth grade. We were standing outside the ring, and my dad asked me, ‘Would you rather show this cow right now, or would you rather have me break your arm?’ And I said, ‘Break my arm.’ And he never made me show a cow again.”

Still, Amy loved the small-town life in a big family. She played sports, mostly basketball and cheerleading, and her family was always close. In fact, the first time she met Luke was on the farm, although it wasn’t exactly a meet-cute. Her older sister Jill was in college at Ohio State and dating Bob Hoying, a quarterback for the Buckeyes. One weekend, Jill brought Bob home for a visit, as well as his teammate Luke, and a friend of hers Luke was seeing at the time.

“I was in high school, and they came home one weekend to ride four-wheelers,” Amy says. “I remember cooking burgers for Luke but didn’t even think anything of it at the time.”

A few years later, Amy went to Ohio State as well. Jill was still dating Bob, who was still hanging out with Luke, so he and Amy started spending more time together.

“We were always around each other. And then I worked in the football office, too, so I would see him there. He’s always been a very humble person, and that is probably what attracted me to him the most,” Amy says. “We had to hide it from my sister for a while, but it was only a matter of time.”

They dated for five years, including one Luke spent in New Orleans with the Saints while Amy finished college in Columbus. Luke came back and worked at Ohio State as a graduate assistant for a season, but they didn’t want to get married until he got a full-time coaching job and a more stable income. He was hired as an assistant at Akron in January 2000. Luke proposed to Amy that same month. The wedding was that summer.

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From the start, their marriage revolved around football.

“When we started dating, I thought he was going to be an optometrist, which sounded great,” she says. “He majored in exercise science, but he was pre-med, wanted to be an optometrist. That did not happen.”

The couple moved back to Columbus in 2002 when Luke got an assistant job with the Buckeyes. Their six kids, including two sets of identical twin boys, are Landon, Luca (the lone girl), Aydon and Ashton and Laykon and Lucian. Most of their births were affected by football, starting with Luca, who was induced 11 days early so Luke could be there before heading to the 2004 Alamo Bowl. Then, while Amy was pregnant with the first set of twins in early 2007, she thought she was going into labor while in Arizona for the national championship game. Luke and Amy spent one night driving around looking for a hospital. She ended up going to the game in a wheelchair, and the boys were born shortly after they got back home, two months premature.

All of this quickly becomes the norm for the spouse of a college football coach, structuring your life around the relentless push of the sport, while wrangling most other facets of parenting and day-to-day existence on your own.

“You go to everything by yourself,” Amy says.

That life has taken on another layer this season, with Landon, the oldest of the Fickell children, joining the Bearcats as a freshman on the offensive line. It has bonded the family even closer to the Cincinnati program and has added an interesting dynamic for Amy.

“I love the relationships you get to build with the players, and I’m kind of getting a different taste now with a child on the team. Feeling closer to the kids on the team, I love that part,” Amy says. “I think Luke is very hesitant to even draw attention to it — you just want your kid to be happy. And I think Landon feels like he has to prove himself, which is good; it’s good to have pressure. When you’re uncomfortable in life, that’s what makes you get better.”

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Amy has noticed that Landon talks to her less about football in an effort to keep things within the team, but she still gets unique glimpses.

“A few weeks ago he was talking and called someone ‘The General,’” she says. “When I asked who that was, he said, ‘That’s what we call Dad.’ Things like that, I never would have gotten to hear otherwise.”

It remains a close-knit family affair. Amy’s sister Jill wound up marrying Bob; their son, Jacob Hoying, recently joined the Bearcats as a freshman walk-on quarterback.

The trope of a coach’s wife can be tired and antiquated: nervously watching from the stands on game day, quietly focusing on a distressed husband deep in film prep, always ready with a casserole or stack of burgers should players show up at the house unannounced. There are kernels of truth to that — Amy coordinated multiple recruiting and team events at the Fickell household this offseason, as well various other get-togethers with staffers, wives, parents and family members. But it’s so much deeper than a stocked fridge and catered dinners.

Amy handles a number of financial responsibilities, both personal and program-related. She works closely with Sherry Murray, Luke’s assistant, to organize those various events and help keep Luke on schedule. She’s constantly checking in with and keeping tabs on fellow spouses and parents the way the head coach does with his staff and players. When she heard a few parents talking about a new Crumbl Cookies location in Cincinnati during a recruiting visit, she mentioned it to the recruiting staff, which promptly bought a few boxes and took them door to door at the hotel that evening. When first-year running backs coach Darren Paige and his wife, Amanda, were expecting their second child this offseason, Amy babysat their son, Zeke, when Amanda had doctor appointments.

“It was huge. Before Amy even met my wife, she offered to help out,” Paige says. “Coach Fick was just like, ‘Call my wife. Drop the kid off at the house.’ Amy is phenomenal. She’s been a great friend to my wife. My son loves going over to their house and playing; it’s like his second home. He’s super comfortable there. It’s been great to be part of this Bearcats family.”

All of that, of course, comes on top of being a mother to six kids, ages 6 to 18. That is why, at the end of the day, Amy knows the most important thing she often can do as a coach’s wife is to simply be available. To talk. To listen. To help. To sympathize.

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“When you’re the boss and you’re in charge, you don’t always have as many people to talk to. So a lot of times you talk to your wife,” Amy says. “It’s definitely made us closer.”

A recurring theme of Luke Fickell news conferences is that he lives under a rock, a mentality he likely will hold even tighter this season with the heightened expectations and attention that comes with a top-10 ranking. Any questions about rankings or projections or general chatter across the sport, and Luke likely will claim ignorance.

“That’s pretty accurate,” Amy says. “I have so many instances when I’ll call and tell him something, things that everyone knows are going on, and he truly has no idea. He has a hard time turning off his competitiveness. It’s one of my least favorite things about him. It’s hard for him to leave work at work because it’s a 24/7 job.”

Suffice to say optometry wouldn’t have worked out for him. Still, Amy has noticed plenty of changes in their 26 years together.

“I wouldn’t tell him this, but he’s definitely more mature,” she says with a laugh. “I don’t think he’s more patient, but he’s grown even more humble. I think his faith is much stronger. And he does have a soft side. He doesn’t let it out very often, but it’s there. Especially with his job, you have to have something that centers you and grounds you, gives you the strength to keep going in hard times and the humility to keep you grounded in high times as well.”

The Fickells have been through their share of hard and high times, particularly last year when the two seemingly were bonded together. The Bearcats pulled off one of the most celebrated seasons in program history, completing an undefeated (albeit truncated) regular season, winning a conference championship and earning the highest-ever College Football Playoff ranking by a Group of 5 program and a trip to a New Year’s Six bowl. But it occurred under the veil of a pandemic and raging social injustices, with rigorous health-and-safety protocols, empty stadiums, extended hiatuses and remarkable strain on the mental health and day-to-day normalcy of college athletes.

Luke, an old-school football type shielded beneath that rock, was forced to adapt, be more of an off-field mentor and comforter, a more eager listener, willing to put football on the back burner when necessary. That role is one beyond his comfort zone, but it’s one he embraced, recognizing the importance.

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“Rough times bring out people’s true character. And when you go through those emotions with someone, you grow closer as a group,” Amy says of last year’s team. “So you’re really in charge of their well-being, and then you go through all this social injustice, and you’re having conversations that you’ve never had before, and maybe you aren’t always comfortable having them, but it’s something we need to do as a society. We need to be discussing these things, and then that makes you even closer. So, this past year, 100 percent, you become more of that father figure, because you care about them. These parents hand their kids over to you, and so many decisions you’re making affect their lives and their well-being.”

Amy acknowledges that Luke has changed her, too. Having grown up with six brothers, she always has been a football fan and still doesn’t care for wrestling, her husband’s efforts be damned. But she admits Luke has made her tougher-skinned, more accepting of things she cannot control. It has made for a healthy partnership.

Amy rarely offers football advice — “Maybe I’ve said a couple things, like ‘Why are you running the ball?’ The response usually isn’t great, but it makes him think” — and instead makes sure Luke doesn’t lose sight of life beyond the field. She shakes her head thinking about the time he got sent on the road recruiting as an assistant at Ohio State while two of the twins were in the NICU. She understands what it’s like to be a young assistant coach, why they would never speak up in those moments. So when she would babysit Zeke for the Paige family, she would get updates from Amanda after her doctor appointments, tracking the baby’s progress.

“At some point, I told Luke, ‘No, Darren is not allowed to go on the road this week.’ Because Darren would never speak up and say that. So definitely, I feel part of my job is to do that,” Amy says. “You want your staff to be happy, and trust me, it matters to the coaches if their wives are happy.”

I finally work up the nerve to ask: “Were you aware of the now-infamous picture that was taken during the Michigan State coaching search last February, showing a mystery woman in high heels boarding a private jet back to East Lansing, followed by a bunch of internet detectives trying to figure out if that was you?”

Amy laughs. We’re sitting in the family room of the Fickells’ home in Indian Hill, replete with a backyard pool, trampoline and a sparkling, brand-new, multi-use barn that was completed this summer, just in time for recruiting visits.

“I did see something about that picture, got some teasing texts. Whatever,” Amy says, rolling her eyes at the memory. “No, those were not my shoes.”

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It feels like a lifetime ago now, but that Michigan State search was a nervy time for the Cincinnati program and its supporters. Same for the Fickell family. Luke had pulled the program back from the brink of collapse. But, like those before him who had found success with the Bearcats, once a top-tier Power 5 program came calling, it felt in the moment as if his watch in Clifton had ended.

There were plenty of reasons to assume as much. Mark Dantonio, one of Luke’s closest friends and mentors, retired late in the coaching cycle and seemed to tab Luke as his successor with the Spartans. For Fickell, it would have meant a move back to the Big Ten, while remaining within a recruiting footprint where he has excelled. More money. More resources. A big fish off to a bigger, richer pond. It was not an easy decision, but ultimately, Luke chose to stay at Cincinnati.

“When you’re the head coach, it affects so many people’s lives, and you can’t be selfish and make that decision just for yourself. That was really stressful,” Amy says. “We went to Mass, we went to adoration that Sunday, and when we walked out Luke said, ‘I don’t really have an answer.’ So I said, ‘That might be your answer.’ We felt that. And it felt right when we made the decision to stay.”

My question about Amy’s shoes was not the real question I was working toward. The real question was about the narrative that has been created, in part fueled by Luke, that Amy is happy in Cincinnati — good schools, good city — and that is a major reason why the Fickells have stuck with the Bearcats. Michigan State was the most public and high-profile offer, but no shortage of Power 5 (and even NFL) suitors have made a run at hiring Luke in recent years. None has been successful, and Amy is believed to be a significant factor in that. So … is that true?

“Oh, I don’t really look into narratives,” she says, physically swatting at the premise. “Look, we love it here, and our kids are happy. It’s a great place. We feel like it’s a good fit for us.”

She doesn’t pretend to have zero influence. As I attempt to pry a little deeper, Amy points across the house to the dining room.

“There has been different interest from different schools. We sat at that dining room table for one interview, and the guy sat with his back to me the whole time. He left, and I said, ‘Absolutely not. There’s no way,’” she says. “So there is a little bit of a say. But when your family is happy and it’s a good place, why would you leave?”

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Since turning down Michigan State, Luke signed a lengthy and lucrative contract extension through 2026, Landon signed on to the most recent recruiting class, and UC finished the 2020 season in the top 10 and with a conference championship. And the Fickells built that massive barn.

“I did not want the barn! I didn’t want it, but Luke insisted,” Amys says. “So if we’re going to do this, it’s going to be a nice barn. I’m not building a pole barn. I could have my brothers come down from Spencerville and build one of those. It got to be a little more than he anticipated, but it’s been great.”

The Fickells already have hosted multiple team and recruiting events there this summer. And yes, Luke did buy wrestling mats for it.

“It’s the Bearcat Barn,” Amy says. “Because of those kids, that’s why we were able to build it. So they’re always welcome.

“When I pick his phone up and see someone who played for him five or 10 years ago that still keeps in touch with him, that’s what is important in life. We’re here to help other people, so to sustain those relationships and see that is really a pretty cool thing. No matter where you’re at, it’s the people you’re around and the relationships that you build. We’re happy here.”

On a sunny Tuesday morning in early August, Amy pops into Camp Higher Ground in West Harrison, Ind., where the Bearcats escape for their annual preseason practice. The four youngest sons tag along, with the older set of twins, already towering over their mother, getting in a quick workout of their own on the practice fields.

Amy stops and chats with just about everyone — players, coaches, support staffers, even teasing me as I still recover from the barre3 demolition. The connections she has made are obvious, but she missed out on a lot of it last season during the pandemic when the team was insulated as much as possible from the rest of the world. It was great having Luke trapped at home during the offseason, but the family couldn’t make any visits to Higher Ground for preseason camp and missed out on plenty during the season. Luke was unable to attend Landon’s senior night at Moeller High School last fall, confined to the team bubble on the Friday before a home game. This small touch of normalcy, with Amy and the kids able to stop by for lunch, is a welcome one.

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Normalcy also has its challenges. Amy has had a few busy weeks, organizing a night out for the coaches’ wives and a staff gathering at the house before the coaches departed for camp and then being stuck at home with five kids while Luke and Landon bunk up at Higher Ground. And with the season on the horizon, the entire family will embark on a familiar journey with a unique, stressful twist: father and son (and nephew) together on a team with immense excitement, increased attention and great expectations.

It’s a lot for any coach’s spouse to take on, although you would have never known it during that workout session days earlier. As the class mercifully wound to a close, Lauren brought back the “beast plank” — you start on your hands and knees, then lift your knees off the ground by pushing with your toes and hovering, locking in your core and defying gravity. Except this time, Lauren added dumbbells to the equation, instructing each of us to row one arm at a time up toward our shoulder while still holding the rest of our body in the beast-plank form.

“This is not impossible,” Lauren shouts, “but it’s really, really, really, really hard.”

Yet for Amy Fickell, it was also a welcome moment of serenity, barely breaking a sweat, practically levitating off the ground.

(Top photo of Luke and Amy Fickell: Joe Robbins / Getty Images)