On the ropes at the Starbucks and big bucks of sweating

Tag : sell ropes

Gyms are horrid places. Dingy, squalid rooms with an atmosphere ofwhat the writer A.A. Gill calls "terrible subdued, self-contained,endured loneliness". They contain the scent not only of sweat, butdesperation: people pedalling nowhere or running on the spot,warding off their inevitable physical decline, barely managing toquell their self-hatred.
Could gyms get worse? Yes - much worse. The past few years haveseen the domination of the Evil Gym. Going, going, gone are theindependent, slightly shop-soiled gyms run by rough diamond formerboxers and rugby players, and in their place are springing upmulti-national chains that look clean and sparkly but offer a darkheart and cynical business model. Here is how to spot one.
They have branches everywhere. If you are transferred to Dubai, London, Geelong or Hornsby -you'll never be far from a branch. Like Starbucks, users feelreassured that the familiar things from home are also on foreignsoil, so they won't be freaked out by, say, an unfamiliar model ofstepper or a receptionist without hair gel.
You become a walking sandwich board. Evil Gyms act like Santa - giving new members branded caps,backpacks and water bottles. The strategy is to turn clients intounpaid marketers to further fuel the gym's expansion and hegemony,ultimately eroding consumer choice.
Incentive schemes exploit friendships so you get all your mates tojoin. The technique is barely more sophisticated than a Tupperwareparty, relying on members to turn friendships into commercialopportunities. But what sort of friend would sell you down theriver and dump you in an evil gym contract to get a canvassquash-racquet bag? Or a wonky MP3 player? Or one month freemembership? A friend who has absorbed the values of the Evil Gym -that's who.
You are subjected to mindless advertising. Customers are treated like big, bleeding wallets trapped in thebuilding for an hour and subjected to an onslaught of commercialsfor "feelgood" products such as plastic surgery, Botox injections,protein shakes and dating agencies on screens above the exercisemachines. An hour of these ads, interspersed with music videoclips, is enough to render gym users catatonic with self-loathing.It's enough to cancel out any endorphin rush from the exercise.
A pushy sales force encourages members to buy expensive extras . For example, extras such as personal training and "premium"membership. The business model at some Evil Gyms is that personaltrainers lease space and the right to tout for business on thefloor. This turns personal trainers into the fitness centreequivalent of chuggers (or charity muggers) who harass people onstreet corners.
Many times while using Evil Gym locations around the globe I havebeen in my own bubble on the cross-trainer, only to have a friendlypolo-shirt hottie approach me and initiate a friendly conversation."Oh how friendly these (insert nationality) are," I have thought -only to realise they are trying to sell me expensive trainingprograms.
Getting out of a contract is harder than leaving a cult. Six months after leaving my Evil Gym in Britain my bank accountwas still being direct debited. Despite catering for globalisedinfo-tech savvy professionals, leaving an Evil Gym requires curiousye olde worlde ways - such as writing them a letter, or making anappointment to see the manager or turning up with a certificatefrom your doctor.
But leave it you should, if you want to exercise in peace. Findthat ex-boxer who has the grubby gym down the road and join beforehe goes out of business.
Brigid Delaney is writing a book on consumer culture.