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Taking it to Extremes
As you strut into Extreme, indie-electro is blaring, beautiful twenty-somethings are chugging from flasks and sipping on vodka redbulls, and sushi is offered to all guests on a platter. Attendants dressed in all black-and-white wait in the washroom, eager with hand towels and breath mints. Bars line the perimeter of the underground mecca, a rare place where both hip teens and once-hip businessmen can gather to sip on the same poison. The DJ is Paper Magazine‘s 2007 Best DJ of the year, Dim Mak Records head, clothing line owner, and blogger (but who isn’t) Steve Aoki a.k.a. Kid Millionaire. It’s eleven-thirty, and the club shows no signs of slowing―that is, ’till the clock strikes midnight, and all the beautiful princesses must return home, before their Jimmy Choos turn back to Nikes, their Rock and Republics become Lululemons, and this nightclub reveals its true self―a fitness club. An Extreme Fitness club.
Hidden behind the well-stocked bars are rows of TV-topped treadmills, racks of weights, brand new recumbent bikes, immaculately clean elliptical trainers, and a bunch of crazy contraptions that will surely help you build muscle―we’re just not sure quite how. In the morning, the gym will be full of regulars, all running nowhere on treadmills. The trainers will be on-site, cheerfully encouraging each client to run faster―of course, they just want to help you be a better version of your former, less-shapely self (we know, it sounds uncannily familiar). Downstairs at the new Toronto Life Square location’s opening last night, everyone including the dancers in American Apparel and the hostesses in all-black evening wear looked happy, friendly, and of course, extremely fit. But at what cost?
With thirteen Toronto-area locations, Extreme Fitness offers every group fitness class imaginable (including Xpress 30-minute classes to ensure that you fit your busy schedule and still fit your jeans), personal training sessions and nutrition consultations, salt-water pools, hair salons, and baby-sitting. And we know they’re effective—who wouldn’t want to see improvements like, uh, this guy? Their website, while chock-full of glossy photos, before-and-afters, and class schedules, is pretty vague when it comes to memberships. And for a good reason. Desireé Buitenbos, for example, was recruited by one of the girls promoting memberships on the street. When a model-esque figure literally hands you the opportunity to get a figure like hers, who could say no? So she obliged. At her fitness evaluation, it was strongly recommended that she to lose a few pounds, revamp her carb-heavy diet, and sign up for a $300-per-month personal trainer. Within a week, she was missing three calls a day to remind her of scheduled training sessions she never agreed to. When she went to cancel her membership, the employee who so eagerly signed her up couldn’t recognize her face. Looking back, she describes it as a “a sales-driven business built around honing in on people’s insecurities. Everyone there is just a number and a monthly fee.”
And we have to agree. Extreme Fitness is a place where fitness trends meet capitalism. It’s hip to have the hot body achieved through hot yoga, spinning, cardio boot camp, and martial arts. Culturally-infused classes and food offers white people the stuff they like, with a high price. So hey, if you can afford it, by all means go for it. But last night, Steve Aoki incidentally reminded us of the simple, cheaper days of the gym with a song you might know. So now only one question remains: how long is it before they start offering on-site surgery?
All photos by Kasandra Bracken.