When I joined my local David Lloyd health club, I pictured deluxe changing rooms, a spacious gym, and a peaceful pool I could luxuriate in after a day at work as a primary school teacher.
For around £200 a month, there would be no jostling for space or being dive-bombed by kids.
In reality, there were many times I asked myself, am I at a premium private gym… or in Benidorm? With endless queues and members fighting over machines, weights and sunbeds at the pool, the club often resembled an overcrowded package holiday hotel at the height of summer, and at other times a hook-up joint.
Not that this is how it started. In fact, it was all very promising when my husband, a marketing director, and I signed up to a family membership at the David Lloyd in Finchley in 2011, after moving to north London with our two children, now 16 and 15.
Both fitness buffs, we used the gym constantly. With the added bonus of a creche, we could work out even when the kids were very young.
But the chain soon started cashing in on its reputation as an elite club, with soaring memberships and seemingly no cap on numbers.
When it came to the David Lloyd health club, pictured, there were many times I asked myself, am I at a premium private gym… or in Benidorm?
With endless queues and members fighting over machines, weights and sun beds at the pool, the club often resembled an overcrowded package holiday hotel at the height of summer
As the queues for car parking spaces and treadmills increased, so too did my impatience. Exclusive? Gah. We were paying a premium price tag for a leisure centre package. The fluffy towels that were once available to members in the showers disappeared, as did the free bottle of wine and half-price meal they initially gifted on birthdays.
So 12 years and some £30,000 later, we quit what had become, to my mind, a greedy, overrated, overpriced and oversubscribed club, with an increasingly questionable clientele, and bang average food in the cafe.
But this is not simply an issue in the capital, as over 100 clubs have sprung up nationwide since the chain was launched by former tennis star David Lloyd back in 1982 (although he sold his share in the business in 1995).
I wonder if their other members were infuriated when they brought in an extra charge to take part in classes such as Blaze, high-intensity interval training (HIIT). A particular bugbear in Finchley was the introduction of an inflated membership fee when a spa was built a few years ago.
Our request for a monthly rate that excluded use of the spa was met with a steadfast refusal. It felt like there was no reward for our long-standing loyalty.
Increasingly, I’d be lifting dumbbells or doing pull-ups while thinking: ‘Why are we paying all that money for this?’
And don’t get me started on how cliquey it became. The Lululemon brigade, with their full make-up and blow-dried hair, seemed there primarily to socialise, since many of them didn’t work. I befriended a few, but I had a full-time job and was there to train hard, so we drifted apart.
They wore their David Lloyd memberships like a status symbol, oblivious to the fact the brand was quickly losing credibility, in part due to the young crowd who treated the club like Tinder. The tales I’ve heard of amorous shenanigans in the quiet side rooms of the spa are unrepeatable here.
Then there were long-time members who had what I call a ‘hog-it’ mentality. Be it their favourite table in the cafe, or their preferred weights or machines, they treated them like personal possessions and anyone who tried to encroach on their territory with disdain.
I remember sitting on a leg extension machine and one of them calling over to me, ‘Hey! I’m using that!’ – when she was nowhere near it.
My son didn’t fare any better while having tennis lessons, where one of the coaches told him: ‘You’re rubbish, you’re never going to be any good!’ Then eight years old, he was understandably upset and didn’t play tennis there again.
However, my greatest beef with David Lloyd was the three-month seasonal membership offered during the summer months. I believe it costs between £300 and £700.
People would snap it up, primarily to use the outdoor pool in good weather. Oh my goodness, the chaos! I would take the kids for a swim and find we could get nowhere near the pool or loungers. People I’d never seen before muscled us out of the way to bag a spot. If you didn’t put your towel down when it opened at 6am, you had no chance.
When I joined my local David Lloyd gym, I pictured deluxe changing rooms, a spacious gym, and a peaceful pool I could luxuriate in after a day at work, says Jo Burland
Increasingly, I’d be lifting dumbbells or doing pull-ups while thinking: ‘Why are we paying all that money for this?’
A helpful pool manager once put out extra chairs for us… but I was also known to simply remove the bagsy-ing towels (often left for hours at a time) before lying out on my empty sun bed of choice.
I’m not the type to have a blazing public row, but I would certainly give their oblivious parents a hard look when kids dive-bombed me in the pool that final summer.
Given I swam outdoors all year round, I decided the obnoxious temporary members were the final straw in 2023.
My daughter is now an elite swimmer at county and national level and when her training sessions started at another gym close by, we decided it was time to move there with her. It’s just £40 a month each for membership versus the £250 we were paying at David Lloyd when we left.
It’s more modern with better equipment, friendly staff, and members who – on the whole – are there to prioritise their fitness not their social swagger or love lives. And I can swim without anyone pushing me out of a lane or jumping on my head.
We’ve been members for almost three years now, and keep seeing other gym-goers turn up who look familiar, only to realise where we know them from: David Lloyd.
A spokesman for David Lloyd has told me: ‘Our clubs are designed as premium health and wellness spaces where members can exercise, relax, socialise and spend time with family. We continue to see strong demand for membership, with many clubs operating waiting lists, and overall satisfaction levels among our members grow each year.’
Well not this member’s satisfaction levels. And I don’t think we’re alone. We’ve been at our new gym for almost three years now, and keep seeing people who look familiar, only to realise where we know them from: David Lloyd.
That’s what happens when you take your eyes off loyal customers and keep increasing prices – eventually they’ll take their cash elsewhere.
As told to Sadie Nicholas
