FITNESS:MY HUSBAND THINKS I'm crazy. So does my family. My friends are falling around laughing at the thought of it. My other half, a former professional rugby player and a veteran of Irish Army Ranger boot camps and the hard-core Spala training camp in Poland, cannot understand why anyone would voluntarily choose to undergo such, shall we say, discomfort.
But thoughts of discomfort have been suppressed by a group of women who’ve opted to spend a week at The Camp, Britain’s toughest fat-burning, weight-loss, military-fitness boot camp for women. The brainchild of two British ex-special forces officers and two years in development, The Camp impressively claims: “Drop a dress size and tone up in a week.”
The ridiculous size-zero trend might be dead, but the cult of thinness is alive and well. And while not all females are devoted to the thin ideal, many would have their heads turned at the kind of Holy-Grail results offered by The Camp.
But what sort of pain for such gain? And what kind of woman is prepared to submit to such a drastic course of action to attain their perfect figure? Despite The Camp’s glorious location in southwest Scotland, unfolding into forest and with idyllic views, don’t be fooled – this is a place of pain, not beauty.
DAY ONE
A flight wedged between some lively Celtic supporters heading to Glasgow does nothing to soothe my pre-camp nerves. I manage to console myself on landing that at least it’s not raining or cold, which could make a week in Dumfries/Galloway very long.
I have to come clean: I’m not in the danger zone when it comes to weight, but I have a pile of redundant skinny jeans I’d like back in my wardrobe. I’m a coffee and chocolate kind of girl, who lives life on fast forward and lacks energy, so I need big changes to reboot my system. My memory of fitness is just that – a memory, and a hazy one at that, so the radical motivation offered by The Camp is what’s in order
Our digs for the week are impressive, a big old manor house with cosy beds and log fires. The women, ranging in age from late 20s to 60s, make polite introductions and, less politely, eye each other up. There is no time for daydreaming, though, as five hard-looking military instructors march in to talk business.
The business is a mix of military and civilian elements: to raise the metabolism and achieve fat burning through constant activity in a challenging outdoor environment. “It is military-based, but not brutal. You won’t be yelled at,” explains Sebastian Morley, one of The Camp’s founders, adding that it was likely there would be tears and an emotional wall. “Stick with it. The lads will help you through.”
Once the dreaded weigh-in is over, we gather for dinner like an excited bunch of schoolgirls. Or what passes for dinner around here: a tiny cup of delicious soup, one piece of broccoli and a matchbox-sized piece of salmon.
Stomach still rumbling, the lads give us an introduction to the exercises we’ll be doing for the week. I’m feeling the pain already. Afterwards we introduce ourselves to each other, AA style, and I realise that this diverse bunch of women defy many of my pre-conceived notions. It turns out everyone has a different reason for being here, and weight loss is just one of them.
Bed cannot come quick enough but fear of the days ahead keeps me awake.
DAY TWO
A commando-style hammering on my door at 5.45am forces me out of bed. I manage to throw on my “outdoor physical training kit” and “fall in” with the group at 5.55am, observed sharply by our instructors. Everyone looks nervous, hungry and tired. It is a tactic not to disclose what’s coming next. It turns out to be a punishing circuit of exercises to test our fitness levels.
I have cramps within five minutes. Despite this, and walking half of my trial run, I get selected for the fitter group. My reward is a minuscule bowl of muesli for breakfast.
We are issued with heart-rate monitors and watches to help us stay in the “fat-burning zone” – so far, so high-tech – and we spend the rest of the morning playing team games, with an introduction to the trim trail, a gruelling running circuit interspersed with high intensity workouts. A long hike in stunning scenery follows our weenie lunch. I’m shattered – they are putting it up to us on the first day, but the group motivation is working and it’s keeping us all going.
DAY THREE
There are not many happy campers today. The relief of getting through the first day of activity is replaced by the reality of five more days of gnawing hunger and hard-core exertion. Even though the gains have been worked out scientifically – controlled meal portions and constant activity to keep the metabolism going all day – this provides little comfort for our group. I tackle the day’s push ups, kettle bells and abdominal curls with detox-induced nausea. A long forest walk produces retching and tears that even the snack of dark chocolate cannot appease. I would definitely recommend having some level of fitness before coming here.
Nutrition classes provide a breather, before the next obstacle presents itself – the preparation for tomorrow’s abseiling. To say this strikes fear in most of us is an understatement. But the level of instruction and professionalism is truly impressive. Safety is an overriding concern and time is taken with everything from injury concerns to equipment training.
I round off the day with a bout of boxing, discovering a hugely satisfying capacity for aggression, and retire to bed on a (relative) high. I fall asleep immediately.
DAY FOUR
Wherever you find a bunch of women, a preoccupation with food will be rife, so between morning press-ups and lunges, we obsess about chips, chocolate and scones. There’s a good atmosphere in the group and a lot of fun. We cling to this as we climb the hillside for our abseil. The lads deal with this mental challenge as with everything – meticulously and sensitively. Before we know it, everyone has abseiled down a 100-metre rock cliff, pushing ourselves well beyond preconceived limits.
I feel like a half-starved but kick-ass girl guide as we tackle the rest of the day. More dreaded trim trail is followed by some crack teamwork building a forest shelter to army standards. The orienteering session escapes me . . . me and directions have never been friends. Things improve later when I nail a target with an airgun and manage to defend myself from would-be muggers with credible viciousness.
After all this, a delicious scrap of venison dinner barely sates my hunger. Later, my mother texts: “Darling, I hope you are eating lots to compensate for all this activity.”
DAY FIVE
Screeching loudly, I plunge fully clothed into freezing cold water for today’s excruciating river crossing (apparently it helps get rid of lactic acid in muscles). This is torturous because I cannot stand cold water.
But all our sneaky excuses are ignored and again, the challenge is overcome by calm instruction and the cheers of the team.One camper, a non-swimmer, makes de it across nervously with a lifebelt.
Maybe, just maybe, I’m getting the hang of the camp regime now, enjoying the camaraderie, getting fitter and feeling braver. Even my running pants feel looser, and blow me down if I don’t feel some endorphins floating around.
DAY SIX
Yesterday’s feel-good factor evaporates once we set out on an eight-hour mountain biking marathon. Driving rain and the hellish Heartbreak Hill provide the backdrop for my toughest day yet and mega-whinging from the group. The level of discomfort is high and between wheezing and battling up hills I’m ready to ambush our instructor Bobby for emergency rations. The constant cocktail of emotions is exhausting. I just want to go home now.
DAY SEVEN
This is the last day. I thought it couldn’t arrive fast enough, but our instructor is faster to say, “Tomorrow is the start, not the end.” After more than four hours of dragging weary legs uphill, we reach the top of a 250-metre peak, sheltering from a minus-15-degrees wind chill in a stone sheep pen along the way. “Not bad for someone who normally only walks around Harrods,” declares one London camper. Back at The Camp, we wind down with a guided relaxation session and a campfire gathering.
TIME FOR HOME
The moment of truth arrives. The weigh-in elicits smiles and whoops of joy. The average weight loss is almost three kilos, but it’s the centimetres that nail it for me. I’m delighted to lose 2.3kg and five centimetres from hips and waist.
It’s strange being home. I feel weirdly institutionalised and miss the girls, but I get busy planning my exercise routine and feel motivated in other aspects of life. I’ve even abandoned my scepticism.
There’s no doubt The Camp is radical and not for everyone, but subtly and not so subtly, it gets results and provides the tools to change old habits. What is better than any weight loss is that I gained new friendships, a welcome mental boost and a new appreciation of exercise.
EIGHT MONTHS LATER . . .
I can safely say the 5am starts didn’t become part of my life. The portion control advised by The Camp is sensible, but difficult to stick with, especially if you are naturally greedy like me. So that left me with exercise – and somehow The Camp flicked the motivation switch I needed to make exercise part of my life. While I’m not planning marathons or triathlons, I am out there three or four times a week, walking, cycling or running. That’s a result worth a week’s hardship.
A week in Scotland costs from £1,450 (€1,700) excluding flights. Courses also run in Spain. thecamp.co.uk, 0044-800-335-7672
