Running up Croagh Patrick, cycling through Mayo and, er, playing stuck in the mud are all in a weekend's boot camp for CONOR POPE, who's well and truly out of his comfort zone
TO SAY I WAS alarmed as I arrived at the boot camp, just outside Westport, would be an understatement up there with “Nama’s probably going to cost us a few quid” or “
Finnegans Wake
isn’t the easiest read in the world.” I wasn’t alarmed, I was terrified. Thanks to an unfortunate Twitter post and a demon texting habit, I’d shared my plans with far too many people. And they’d all reacted with a mixture of hilarity and horror. “You’re doing what? Appalling! It’s going to be hell. Bring painkillers. Bail.”
A day into the three-day adventure, bailing is definitely on the table. My limbs, having apparently aged 60 years in 24 hours, are on fire, and even thinking about climbing the stairs to bed is making me very, very sad. As I hobble up to my room I curse myself for not doing just a bit of research beforehand. If I’d spent 10 seconds on the Fitness West website I’d have learned that the whole plan was to take me out of my comfort zone. That’s a zone I like and am very comfortable with, thanks very much.
The phenomenon of paying money so people can shout at you and make you do push-ups and sit-ups has taken off in recent years, as twenty- and thirtysomethings with more money than sense look for alternatives to the monotony of the gym and the loneliness of the long-distance run.
The Fitness West course is a new kid on the boot-camp block. It was set up four months ago by a pharmacist and a printer who met while competing in triathalons, and they are marketing it as a combination of fitness course and away-from-it-all weekend break.
The setting is stunning. The sea is a few metres from the back of the house, and Croagh Patrick looms large out front. The living space is communal, and the food is cooked by a chef who, incidentally, is also a psychotherapist.
The first morning starts with a three-kilometre jog along the seafront to a nearby pier. There isn’t a sinner on the road, and the only sound to be heard is the water lapping gently against the shore and my less-gentle breathing. At the pier we do some stretches, then jog back to the house, where a breakfast of porridge, smoothies and fresh fruit awaits.
So far so easy. Then the kettle balls come out. There’s a reason Russian soldiers are as hard as nails, and it’s these metal balls. They weigh anything between four and 24 kilos and were invented to toughen up all the tsars’ men more than 200 years ago. They’re in vogue in the most upmarket gyms after receiving the endorsement of some of the world’s beautiful people. In truth there’s little that’s beautiful about the kettle-ball routines. We swing them between our legs using only our hips to get them moving, we swing them over our heads (or try to) and we do ridiculously painful lunges, over and over.
After the kettle balls comes the three-minute routine. Three minutes? How hard can that be, I think. We skip for a minute, then star jump for a further minute. There was a third exercise, but I’ve completely forgotten what it was, because by the time its turn came I was so chronically deprived of oxygen that my mind had gone blank. I’m pretty sure it involved some class of jumping, though.
“That’s a real lung buster, isn’t it?” says the instructor with a broad smile. I’d respond, but I’m too busy wondering whether I should throw up before or after I collapse.
There is a momentary respite as we do some postural-realignment stretches. After that it’s off up the Reek. With such a famously challenging climb as Croagh Patrick on their doorstep, the Fitness West boys would be foolish not to exploit it, and before I can say “Ah, no, I’m all set – I’ve climbed it before” I’m bundled into a van and taken to the base.
It’s a hard climb, no matter how fit you think you are. The first stretch of rocky hill is bad enough, but it is the near vertical ascent up loose, pointy rocks at the finish – known locally as the Cone – that’s the real killer. I’d like to say I climbed it like a mountain goat, but unless that mountain goat was old and infirm, with a gammy leg, I’d be lying.
Back at the house, dinner is wolfed down in near silence. The stairs are climbed slowly and painfully and not at all silently. There’s nothing to do in the house once the trainers leave, at 8pm, so the choices are to chat with your fellow guests or go to bed.
Morning two and the gentle jog to the pier is replaced by some less-gentle hill running. You sprint up a steep hill near the house. You feel your lungs burning and your eyes popping out, then you jog back down the hill. And do it again. And again. And all before breakfast.
After that it’s on to the obstacle course. This is tough. The group is split into four pairs. While one pair do bear crawls along logs, jump over and slide under hurdles, lift tyres and do press-ups, the others perform a combination of star jumps, weights, burpies – nowhere near as relaxing as the name suggests – and other incredibly exhausting leaps and bounds. “That’s a real lung buster, isn’t it?” the instructor says again. And again I’d like to respond, but I can’t breathe.
There is just time for lunch before a 40km cycle on and down some Mayo hills. With the sun on our backs it is a pleasant enough way to pass an afternoon.
Sunday morning is a wind-down. The limbs have stopped hurting so much and heads are clearer thanks to a combination of long sleeps, good food, posture exercises and fresh air. There’s another run, faster and easier this time, followed by a lot of crawling through muck and dodging between hurdles and poles.
It’s not an obstacle course this time but games of tag, stuck in the mud and London Bridge. The instructors like to mix things up a bit and recongise that the games of our childhood are as taxing on the lungs and limbs as any of the other exercise programmes, but a whole lot funnier.
It dawns on me that I’m enjoying boot camp. It’s nowhere near as horrendous as I’d been led to believe. The trainers are two of the most affable people you could hope to meet, and they have clearly twigged that people don’t like being shouted at and pushed into doing things they are not able for.
Their holistic and enthusiastic approach makes the camp suitable for complete beginners and fitness freaks, and come Sunday lunchtime everyone leaves with a broad smile on their faces – not something you’d say about some boot camps, I suspect.
- Conor Pope was a guest of Fitness West (fitnesswest.ie). Weekend residential boot camps cost from €392 per person. Day and week-long camps are also available
More boot camp breaks, at home and away
Other Irish boot camps
- Bootcamp Ireland(01-2343797, bootcampireland. com), set up six years ago by fitness fanatic Lorraine Ho, runs training events all over the country. It has a four-night trip to Fuerteventura, in the Canaries, with its trademark military-style trainers in tow. Running (ahem) from June 18th to 22nd, the trip costs €259 per person, excluding flights.
- The Ritz-Carlton Powerscourt, in Co Wicklow, runs Bridal Bootcamps(01-2749710, ritzcarlton.com) if you're keen to look fit on your wedding day. The four-day camp includes Pilates, boxercise, circuit training and aquarobics, plus a makeover, spa treatments and a nutrition course. It costs €335 per day.
Boot camps abroad
- UK firm New You Boot Camp(00-44-1202-559336, newyoubootcamp.com) has opened a training venue near Carvoeiro, 40 minutes west of Faro, in Portugal. Running from October to April, it includes military-type fitness activities on site, on the beach and in woodlands, as well as mountain biking, hiking, boxing, skipping and team games. The October 29th camp costs £1,495 (€1,760) pps in a twin or £1,850 (€2,180) single.
- If you can't wait that long, the same company has a Bikini Boot Camp, designed to get you ready for the beach this summer. The "body-sculpting, super-slimming" makeover promises a lot in just one week at a Tudor manor in Somerset. Prices start at £1,450 (€1,710).
- Also in the UK, Prestige Boot Camp(00-44-117-9731213, prestigebootcamp.com) promises to boost your fitness and drop your weight by about seven pounds after a week at its five-star accommodation on the Devon coast. It runs women- only courses, too, including boxing, circuit training, hiking and nutrition. Prices for a twin start at £995 (€1,170).
- For complete luxury, Camp Biche (00-33-9-70444131, www.campbiche.com), near Cahors, in France, offers its signature boot camp for €3,500. You get a seven nights' accommodation, daily four-hour hikes, yoga, abs classes and massages, fuelled by gourmet vegetarian food.
- Farther afield, the Ashram, near Malibu in California (00-1- 818-2226900, theashram.com), runs a seven-day programme that starts with a reveille each day at 5.30am, ready for yoga session before breakfast, then mountain-biking before lunch. The afternoon is spent on weights, resistance training and massage. The message? Eat healthily and get more exercise, and your body will look after itself. Your wallet will be lighter, mind. It costs $4,250 (€3,375), excluding flights.
SANDRA O'CONNELL
