The madness is about to begin.
Fifteen men stand against a wall in a 550-square-metre converted warehouse. They’re anxious, and it shows in their unconscious movements: shifting feet, tapping fingers, darting eyes. The punk music blasting from overhead speakers adds an almost palpable intensity as Gym Jones’s splendidly profane, superhero-size fitness director, Rob MacDonald, saunters up and down their ranks.
“You, 48. You, 54. You, 63,” says MacDonald, jabbing a finger at three men in turn. “That’s how many calories you have to burn – in one minute. If you don’t make it, you’ll keep trying until you fucking do.”
Muffled curses filter through the music as each man considers the immensity of his task. To reach his goal, which MacDonald has calculated using respective body size and fitness level,…