The house music thumping through Dance Studio 1 is so loud that thankfully no one can hear the creaking of my tired old trainers. If they could, I'd stick out like even moreof a sore thumb than Ialready do.
It's morning aerobics at Peckham Pulse, a big new health club in south-east London. In front of me, a dozen women in T-shirts, tracksuit bottoms and Lycra are stepping, lunging and grooving to the music, all in time to instructions yelled out by Meryem Ozekman.
I'm easily the least ÂÂco-ordinated of the lot. Not surprising really, as I'm the only man in the class. To begin, I think it's going to be a doddle but soon I'm hopelessly out of step and look like a proper geek with no sense of rhythm. To make matters worse, with wall-to-wall mirrors my attempt to hide at the back is in vain.
At the back is where you'll find most men in aerobics or yoga classes. If they go at all, that is. Those who do are often so glad to see they're not the only ones that they may even acknowledge each other with a sheepish nod.
"I have had a couple of guys in my classes," Ozekman tells me afterwards. But she wonders why there aren't more: "You're a bloke - you tell me!"
The answer could lie in the weights room, a heaving den of testosterone on the other side of the club. There, during class, I noticed a pair of mean-looking, muscle-bound bruisers gawping at me in scorn through the glass partition. "Most blokes in this gym are way too macho to try anything like aerobics," says Ozekman. "If they did, they'd see that it's not as easy as they think."
So I venture into the weights room to ask them. To my surprise, of the four beefed-up types I speak to, two actually do take yoga and aerobics seriously. "I wouldn't do it now but I would use yoga if I had an injury," says one. "It's notat all girly . . . I might takeit up for flexibility whenI'm older." Another points out that "yoga's really good for stamina."
The two others, however, take one glance at the class in progress in the studio and shake their heads. "Looks like gymnastics," says one; "Nah, I'm not keen," mutters the other.
Jamaine Facey, the gym's operations manager, says: "Some guys do have the attitude that [yoga or aerobics] is just for girls. Others do know the benefits butlots of men just want to pump iron."
It could be that neither my aerobics class nor the men doing weights are representative. Nevertheless, Facey says the average class at Peckham Pulse might see only seven men out of 30or so participants. There were even fewer in the past, he says.
The perception seems to be that most "real men" shy away from aerobics, yoga or Pilates. It's a different story for circuit training, which has a reassuringly masculine element to it. Perhaps it's the quasi-military ethos of getting shouted at as you stagger from punchbag to abdominal crunches.
Jenny Jolliffe, programme manager at Cannons health club in the City, confirms that its circuit-training classes attract more men than women. "There is a definite social conditioning that some types of exercise are for men and others for women," she says. "But this mindset is often the opposite of the physiological requirements of each gender from an exercise programme."
So are there actual physical barriers to the type of exercise men and women can do?
"I used to teach anatomy and physiology and, from that perspective, no," says Elesa Argent, a researcher at Loughborough University's School of Sports and Exercise Sciences. It's more a question of sociology, says Argent, who is also a qualified instructor.
Jennifer Smith, a lecturer in media at the University of Leicester, agrees: "It's not so much what the body, physically, is capable of but of the social niches and roles the exercise is making us 'fit' for," she says. "Men have traditionally been associated with strength, whereas women have been associated with flexibility or litheness. This means that men are less likely - given pressures to conform to dominant gender norms - to do yoga than women."
The picture varies from gym to gym. As a health club in a less affluent area, Peckham Pulse - operated by leisure group Fusion on behalf of the borough of Southwark - tries to be inclusive of low-income or unemployed locals. In contrast, Cannons City has a catchment area full of corporate lawyers, brokers and investment bankers.
Is there less sex segregation among the professional classes? "It's quite possible at Cannons that our members are used to operating in a mixed-sex environment in the workplace and feel that the gym is an extension of the workplace thanks to the professional nature of our members," says Jolliffe.
I try out a step aerobics class at Cannons. This time guys are outnumbered only eight to four - up from one in 12 in Peckham. I'm still the most uncoordinated in the group despite beaming encouragement from instructor Aggie Lindberg. And I still notice people in another part of the studio halting their workouts to gawp at us.
On the issue of professional class, Jennifer Smith says: "This isn't just a question of working-class guys not being able to afford memberships to health clubs where yoga is on offer: it's a question of class tastes and bodily pay-offs."
Class does play a role in driving conformity to traditional gender roles, shesays. But beyond that, she cites "the role of exercisein delivering . . . networking and social status rewards that count more for some people than for others". That tennis club membership may have more to do with social climbing than improving your serve.
So what about yoga? Is it right that many men see it as just a little light stretching or a hippy, new-age pursuit for the girls?
"I think it's more a fear about not 'being good' in front of women than that it's not for men," observes Jonathan Sattin, managing director of London's Triyoga. "Most men you ask who don't do yoga know it would be good for them but . . ."
Triyoga has studios at Primrose Hill, Covent Garden and Soho. Sattin says they see a ratio of 70 women to 30 men. He also notices more men attracted to ashtanga yoga, the strenuous, sweaty form popularised by Madonna and Sting. "The background to ashtanga is 'masculine'," he says, "and its popularity has changed the way people perceive yoga, in that you can have a workout and feel the other benefits of yoga."
Times are, of course, changing. Even with their minority presence, men are taking the yoga/aerobics/Pilates plunge far more than they did in the 1980s or 1990s. "We live in a modern society where men and women both play rugby and lift weights," says Elesa Argent. "Besides, what is a 'real man' anyway?"
‘HERE IT’S JUST US MEN...’
It doesn’t sound or feel like a group of men preparing to engage in physical exercise. As tracksuit tops come off, the good-natured joshing and predictions of humiliating defeat for the opposition are missing and an air of calm pervades.
But that’s probably because we’re not going to be thrashing each other at squash or outdoing each other lifting weights. It’s inner calm that we’re after at this men’s yoga group in Ruislip, Middlesex.
After a bit of general chat about the traffic our teacher, Bram, invites us to lie down on our mats. It’s a Thursday. It’s been a long week and many of us are facing the prospect of a weekend of DIY and kids so Bram starts us off with some simple breathing exercises to help relaxation. Then we move on to some stretching and side bends.
As a man at my usual yoga classes I can expect to be in the minority – often the sole man there. The women in the class don’t say so but I imagine they regard men at yoga classes as sweet but out of place. But here it’s just us men, ranging from our 30s to our 60s, who are stiff, slightly awkward in our movements and plagued with bad backs but keen to learn. In fact, this class is the perfect antidote to the
idea that yoga is for babysling- carrying, hemp-chewing New Men.
After a few minutes, though, I’ve forgotten that I am in a class exclusively for men and I’m just doing my own yoga thing. If someone else’s down dog is better than mine, then I haven’t noticed. In fact, the atmosphere is gently supportive as we struggle to get our bodies to do what we want them to.
Afterwards Bram explains that the content of the class is part-tailored to the gender of the participants: “I’ve included breathing because it’s relaxing, something that men find difficult – and because breathing is not competitive.”
Other than relaxation there seem to be two common reasons for joining the group. The first is a bad back (“mandatory here”); the second, which causes much amusement, is enforced enrolment by wives.
No one will actually admit to choosing a men-only class but one participant, Michael, says: “I went to Keep Fit with my wife and she got it straight away but my arms and legs were all over the place.”
David agrees that being the only hairy, sweaty man among a yoga class of women can be difficult. “It just feels more comfortable here somehow,” he says.
“I’ve played a lot of football and tennis but I never realised how inflexible I was until I came here,” says Peter. “I really don’t think I’d have enjoyed it in my 20s but, whenever I come back from a session, my daughter says, ‘Dad, you look so relaxed’. That’s the important thing, isn’t it?”
