Lizeka Mda: CITY LIMITS
Six o’clock in the evening and there is no parking space left in the Old Edwardian Sports Club in Lower Houghton. Cars overflow outside the club’s gates on to Fourth Street, all the way to 11th Avenue.
These are the premises of the Old Edwardian Society, prime real estate in this leafiest of the leafy suburbs. It is here that the Old Edwardian Health & Racquet Club is located.
“It’s the hypermarket of gyms,” says Greg, a member who joined this particular gym specifically because of the wide choice of facilities.
And the citizens of central Johannesburg use the facilities to the maximum. The inside is swarming with people, wall to wall.
“It’s on my way home,” says Sibusiso, who works in Fourways and lives in Berea.
“I suppose I could go to Bedfordview,” says Thembisa, who lives in Kensington, “but I’m sure I wouldn’t like it.” So she comes to Old Eds even though she knows it may be 20 minutes before she gets a parking.
“It’s like going to the bank at the end of the month. You know you are going to stand in line for a long time. But it’s one of those things that can’t be helped. You just psyche yourself.”
“I like the atmosphere here,” says Buyisile, who has been coming to Old Eds for five years, probably speaking for the 4 000 who go through Old Eds each day.
There is a certain je ne sais quoi that draws them from as far as Blackheath or Troyeville to this gym.
“It’s the most cosmopolitan of our clubs,” says Ross Faragher-Thomas, Health & Racquet’s senior regional general manager, and former general manager at Old Eds. “There’s every kind of person there, and because of our location, there are quite a number of senior citizens.”
The senior citizens, many of whom are supposedly advised by their doctors to take some exercise to keep heart attacks at bay, often come laden with jewels. Some are quite sprightly, like the matron who often attends the aqua class. She’s fun to behold as she gives it all she’s got. That’s after you recover from the surprise of seeing the scorpion tattooed on her back.
There is the kugel crowd. These rule the roost during the day. With hair coiffed to the high heavens and faces thick with make-up, exercise for these women seems to be coincidental to the social aspect of being in the gym.
They spend as much time, if not more, sitting at the Juicy Lucy where there is no evidence of a diet tyranny, judging from the coronary-blocking specials advertised on the boards: bacon, two eggs and sausage for breakfast, steak roll and crisps, toasted club sandwich, with a choice of chicken mayonnaise or ham and cheese for the fillings.
Joyce, however, who meets friends at the caf, most Saturdays, recommends the lemon and poppy seed muffins.
There is a big gay scene at the gym.
“The gay men are usually the thin, single and neat ones,” says Greg. “Even when they’re in their 50s they still care about looking good.”
“There is a lot of cruising in the changerooms,” says Bruce. “You see one person getting undressed and going in and out of the sauna, then the shower, on and on.”
Apparently a lot of businessmen use the sauna in much the same way as they use the golf course – to conclude deals.
“I put 30 grand in JCI today” or “I sold two houses last week” are some of the likely snippets.
In the women’s changeroom, a small crowd gathers around the television set for a daily dose of The Bold and the Beautiful.
Old Eds remains largely white, but there is a minority subculture of young upwardly mobile blacks. These are much the same characters who used to frequent the Hillbrow squash courts in 1990 and 1991, before the much-lamented degeneration of Hillbrow.
Then there’s the Bellevue brigade of politicians. Some have moved on and are now the president’s neighbours in Houghton. Who could have anticipated it during those years when Helen Suzman of the Progressive Federal Party battled the National Party in Parliament? Then, every report back to her Houghton constituency began with a tracking of the apartheid jigsaw puzzle, which steadily aligned each facet of South African life along racial lines.
Today, at the club in the heart of the area she represented, one is likely to encounter Marcel Golding of the National Union of Mineworkers, Murphy Morobe, former leader of the Mass Democratic Movement, and, before her London posting, Cheryl Carolus, pedalling away at the bikes.
The Arnold Schwarzenegger wannabes can be found near the entrance downstairs, isolated from the social gatherings.
The dozen or so personal trainers are also available for members needing a more structured training regimen or for those lacking discipline. Competition is fierce among the trainers who advertise their skills in leaflets, and on billboards downstairs.
A BA in human movement studies from Rhodes University and a BA in human movement sciences from Rand Afrikaanse University appear to be the qualifications of choice for the younger generation. The older trainers, who are without such academic training, boast of “over 30 years’ experience” or “22 years’ gym experience”. Next to his photograph, Mr Greece 94/95 simply writes: “Let this body speak for itself.”
Greg chose one Yveta Propokova, a graduate of Charles University in Prague, Czech Republic, who describes herself as a personal trainer and motivator. Someone recommended her. She was good, too, he says. They got talking about old Czechoslovakia. She missed the Velvet Revolution – locked indoors, such was her fright.
When a stranger has taken a close look at your rickety knees or has prodded and circumnavigated your cellulite with a tape measure, there are very few secrets left, I imagine. Indeed, the members of Old Eds spend so much time together, many are nodding acquaintances.
The idiosyncrasies of the instructors, some of whom are more popular than others, are known to all.
“Isn’t she neurotic though?” asks one member about an aqua aerobics instructor. “She gets really cross if you deviate from her routine.”
There are two aerobics studios and they are always busy. But the most popular is the spinning studio. Spinning is just a name because there is no spinning about it. Members on cycles are put through their paces for 45 minutes by an instructor in front. Spinning costs R7 a lesson and all nine lessons in a day are booked solid.
“It’s addictive,” says a sweat-drenched Caroline, exhilaration evident in her voice.
“Spinning’s the best fun I’ve ever had, other than sex,” says Joyce, who only ever did it once and promptly pulled an inner thigh muscle.
The treadmill and the grey lifecycles are also popular. During peak periods members are only allowed 20 minutes on these. At any one time there are several people waiting to use them.
“Think of it this way,” explains Bruce as his 20 minutes on the grey bike runs out and he moves on to a pink one, “That is the BMW of cycles, and this here is a Ford Cortina.”
It is on the Cortinas that he spends many an hour next to his friend from the Mail & Guardian, observing the scene. Almost everyone around him is riveted to the cricket on the television screens, or reading newspapers.
“From the bikes you can see everything that’s going on,” says Greg. “Relationships develop in front of your eyes. You see this man manoeuvring to cycle next to that woman, and then one day they arrive together.
“The best thing about coming here is that there is always someone who looks more ridiculous than you do.”
For Bruce “it’s just like a local pub really”.