Sydney’s Fitness Show offers a peek at the latest, greatest and most bizarre new trends in the $8.5bn fitness industry
The steady stream of trim people kitted out in fluoro and black Lycra navigating the vast underground car park is the giveaway.
Despite the fact that it’s a gloriously sunny Saturday morning – dare I say perfect for running in the park – the fit and the wannabe fit are headed to Sydney’s newly reopened International Convention Centre, this year’s home for the Fitness Show for a peek at the latest, greatest and most bizarre new trends in the $8.5bn fitness industry.
Hall three will soon be packed, with more than 35,000 attendees over three days, all craning their necks as they wander through the Willy Wonka-like wonderland, packed with gadgets, quick fixes and super superfoods; stopping frequently to gawp at those who have achieved the unthinkable and embody the ideal, whatever that might actually be.
As part of the small media contingent, I’m allowed in before the hordes. First stop on my sneak peek tour is a demonstration of twerking as the latest cardio workout. It was only a matter of time, right? Instructor Amber Rae, from the Haus of Pole, takes the group of journos and bloggers through some creaky hip ticks, booty pop and drops and cheek isolations. She assures the group that once we “let it jiggle” it will all come together and she has us crouching on the floor in awkward squats attempting to isolate the relevant butt muscles, while Missy Elliott implores us to “work it”. She loses me when we start crawling/sliding backwards on our stomachs and I’m happy to leave her to jiggle in time to Major Lazer’s electronica ode to the “bubble butt”.
Amber says twerking is the most popular class at her Haus, even more than pole dancing and barre classes, and is frequented mostly by women in their 20s and 30s. It’s clearly a good workout to get the blood pumping along with a focus on those troublesome glutes and thighs. There’s plenty of talk about body acceptance in the class and I’m told they often turn the lights down to break through any self-consciousness at all the hip grinding and booty shaking.
Next up it’s time for a yoga session with the impressively named Lola Berry, who mixes hip hop with her downward dogs. “I’m a bit of a hugger” says the yoga teacher/TV presenter, who greets an acquaintance or three with a wide embrace. She’s warm and charming, dishing out life lessons in between the yoga poses, including the thought-provoking “How you show up to your yoga mat is how you show up in life”. Hmm.
Lola is followed by Scott Gooding, erstwhile My Kitchen Rules contender, now high-protein-high-fat-low-carb proponent, complete with sandy-coloured mohawk and cheeky Bondi wit. He demonstrates the art of the very trendy salmon poke bowl, otherwise known as a bowl of colourful salad and poached salmon on a bed of rice, drizzled with a ginger, garlic, chilli, lime, fish sauce dressing.
Across the way, we stop at the cyrotherapy treatment stand, which we’re told is so hot right now it’s cold. Literally freezing, in fact, as it involves exposing the body to chilled nitrogen gas in the range of -110 to -170 degrees in a cryosauna. Formerly limited to sports stars easing weary muscles, it is now said to “energise and revitalise body and mind”. The girl in front of me points to “flattens stomach and reduces cellulite” on the brochure before stepping forward to volunteer for a two to three minute session. We leave her to it and I try not to think of Veruca Salt.
And then I’m on my own to weave my way through the steadily filling hall, dodging promo girls with spidery lashes and white teeth, bearing trays ladened with samples of protein bars and hyper-coloured fluids. Judging by the multiple booths, the war between carbs and protein as weight loss agents is ongoing, although protein seems to be winning. Smart carbs are no match for the giant tubs of protein powder, beef jerky and space food-tasting protein bars. Even banana bread is now a paleo bar.
The hall is divided into the industry zone filled with newest versions of treadmills, bikes and machines for gym owners; the active zone for those looking for a demo of the latest workout craze and the strength zone for those that take their weights very seriously.
Over in the strength zone, there’s a buzz of excitement. Eight women, all fake tan and fluoro pink bikinis, line up on a low stage as a mostly male crowd gathers to watch. These are the female amateur body builders, although there is nothing amateur about the intensity radiating from their glare-smiles as they flex their mahogany coloured muscles in pre-agreed poses.
On a cue, they execute a synchronised quarter turn, lifting a leg to pop a sculpted thigh muscle while clenching their biceps. They turn again and flip their long hair over their left shoulders and arch to show a ripple of muscles across their shoulders. The compere relentlessly shuffles them around like Barbie dolls: “Number 74, moves two places, number 11, step to one side please.” After an interminable series of turns and poses, three are dismissed, a few medals are handed out and then a statuesque blond named Lauren can barely restrain her delight when she’s awarded the top slot.
Next up, it’s the male amateurs. Six alpha men, including one I swear is called Jeff-the-big-bok-choy, stride on to the stage, all sprayed espresso coffee brown and sucking in their stomachs. Yet there is one clear crowd favourite. Perhaps it’s because Jason Owen hasn’t spray-tanned his Japanese boy band facial features to quite the same syrupy brown tones as his chiselled abs but a gaggle of young women giggle with delight as he poses. Flex as they might, Jeff-the-big-bok-choy and the others are no match for Jason, and he fist pumps as he’s awarded the medal, waving to his young fans as he marches off stage.
The bodybuilding stage is flanked with multiple booths selling all manner of protein supplements and never-ending queues of those hoping for a sample and a free water bottle. I stop briefly at a booth advertising peptides online, with a table full of brochures and dinky plastic syringes filled with jelly beans, but the vendors are too nervous to talk to me on tape. Not far along is Muscle Beach, where muscle-marbled men and women pull, lift and twist their way around a series of intricate bars.
A couple of stands along is the weightlifters, where enormous men lift barbells of incomprehensible weight for 30 seconds or less. There is a minor drama as one contestant’s tree trunk-like knees wobble under the weight and the cluster of four men hover around him in nervous anticipation but he is quick to regain his red-faced composure and sets the weight down again with a flourish.
I skirt more lengthy queues of dudes waiting patiently to meet Calum Von Moger, a 26-year-old tank of a man with shoulders bigger than my head. The former Mr Universe/self-proclaimed koala freak from Geelong wears his baseball cap backwards and greets his queuing fans with that shoulder-bumping bro hug and a “Yo”.
Those weaving through the booths in the active zone are leaner, yet all crane their necks towards the next booth, in search of the next big thing. Indeed the crowd is a mixed bag of sizes but there are a lot of men in sleeveless tank tops and women in tight black Lycra. A slack-jawed crowd clusters around at the UFC octagon, where two men show off their sparring, lifting and landing skills, a little too rehearsed.
Right in the centre of the active zone, amid all the commerce of this vast industry, there is something more impressive going on. The Outrun Cancerteams, divided into a male team, a female team and a male solo runner, are trying to break the world record for the number of kilometres run in 24 hours on a treadmill, all in the name of charity. Luca Turrini is the team founder and also the male solo runner. He looks focused and determined, and they are only about an hour in when I speak to organisers, but all three teams will go on to break their records and raise more than $20,000 for Camp Quality.
Over at the Australian Institute of Fitness (AIF) area, trainer Michelle Bridges is in full flight, surrounded by a large group of fit women running and jumping at her command. Arguably the reigning queen of Australian fitness, Bridges is no longer on Channel Ten’s The Biggest Loser and now runs her own multimillion-dollar business 12WBT and is an AIF ambassador. People are crowded around the large area, all leaning in for her affable wisdom. “I’m a trainer, I’m not supposed to be working out,” she jokes, after powering through a speedy set of burpees. “We become trainers to boss someone else around.”
It’s almost time to call it a day, although I’ve been asked to collect a media bag bursting with samples. When I get home, I will gaze in bewilderment at such things as a powdered cranberry and collagen drink supplement; Kapai Puku seed protein with weirdly granulated muesli; a book called Mind Lies that proclaims “Your mind is lying to you”; a spray-on, play-on sport aid for post-sport stiffness; a sachet of plant protein in Himalayan salted caramel flavour and a face shield for next time I do CPR from Royal Life Saving. The standout is undoubtedly the bewildering Qalo “functional” silicon wedding ring, which comes in a variety of colours including “camo” and replaces traditional metal wedding rings. Who knew I needed any of this stuff?
Outside the convention centre, it’s still a gloriously warm autumnal day with a gentle breeze. As I make my way home through Sydney’s suburbs, I spot plenty of Lycra-clad folk jogging, stretching and enjoying the sunshine. Perhaps they just didn’t know the expo was on.
Published in Guardian Australia on 2 May 2017 as The body beautiful: in search of freeze-dried blueberries, Mr Universe and a twerk-out
