Five days at a fat farm…sorry…health resort.

It was a few years back that I was there … So what was I doing at a health retreat? No alcohol, no caffeine, no fatty foods for five whole days – sounds like hell doesn’t it? It was anything but.

By way of explanation:

I married a modern-day, male version of Typhoid Mary – you know, that woman from history who carried the typhoid bug that she passed onto all those with whom she came in contact without ever getting the sickness herself.  He’s a little different in that the man I married contracts the sickness and then spreads it – mainly to me. Unlike Typhoid Mary, he also suffers but not as much as everyone else, especially me. This sojourn was supposed to be a chance for me to recover from his latest offering that had laid me low for nigh on two weeks (but him only a couple of days.)

The break started with an overwhelming sense of tranquillity, as I walked through the 12-foot-high front doors of this Hunter Valley health retreat in NSW, Australia – Elysia, The Golden Door and into the two-storey foyer, it was a portent (and a portal) of things to come.

It’s luxurious: the private suites are spacious with spectacular views over the Hunter Valley and its grapevines (irony not lost), and bathrooms to die for. In the evenings, when you’re at dinner, someone comes to turn down your bed and lights an oil burner with scented oils.

Just when you think it doesn’t get much better, there’s the spa where ‘treatments’ such as massages and facials are offered.

Then there’s the food: It’s so good that you’d never know it was of the healthy variety with offerings such as lobster on the menu.

But it’s not all beer and skittles.

This is a health retreat and throughout the day activities are offered hourly from 6.30 in the morning until around 5 p.m. For those who feel energetic and want to get fit or lose weight there are the strenuous kind, for the others, there are more gentle pursuits – an hour of ‘boot camp’ (read: hard physical slog) was offered, for instance, with an alternative of ‘smile meditation’.

Being that no one ever got fit taking ‘smile meditation I picked the strenuous options. They proved confronting.

Believing myself to be pretty fit, I nonetheless found that in boxing, circuit training, walking, boot camp, spin class, tennis, volleyball et al, I was always the weakest link.

On the regular 4.5 kilometre morning walk, the only way I could keep up with the pack was to run like the clappers down the hills to give myself a head start for when everyone caught up with me on the flat or on the uphill miles.

Kangaroos grazing on the golf course would look at me quizzically as if to say, “why isn’t she with the others?” One morning I almost ran straight into one coming the other way. We stopped and stared at each other both wondering who would blink first. I did.

Then there was the 10 kilometre hike that was not half as strenuous for me as for our guide who walked with the fast walkers at first (read: everyone but me) and then had to wait for me to make sure I hadn’t got lost only then to have to run like billio to catch up with the others again. He did this several times, not once complaining – bless him.

Boot Camp

And being the weakest link at boot camp proved to be soaking experience for me.

Imagine: the challenge entailed getting ping-pong balls out from the bottom of a six-foot tube without tilting the tube (in competition against another team). The only way to do so was to float the balls to the top. Water and buckets were provided at the other end of the field, so running was involved. As the slowest runner, (I hate admitting that!) my task was to hold the tube upright. So easy, I can hear you saying. Ha!

No, these people are dastardly.

After receiving the first few bucketfuls of water, the tube sprang a leak, then another one and another and another… Yep, they’d drilled holes all the way up. As the tube holder, I needed to stem the leaks to keep the water from escaping. My fingers stretched to three holes on one hand then three holes on the other (the holes were nowhere close to each other), after that, I needed to deploy my tongue.

This involved me having to turn my head to the side, which, due to the inaccuracy and haste of the runners, meant more water was poured into my ear than into the tube and I was in jeopardy of developing water on the brain. I couldn’t protest – my tongue was otherwise occupied – not that anyone would have taken any notice – this was a competitive lot.

The situation worsened when others needed to be deployed to stem even more leaks further up the tubes. It was a hilarious. And while I’d like to say we won, we didn’t.  Smile meditation had been replaced by laughter therapy.

Just as the ignominy of always being the weakest link threatened to overwhelm me and put me off my dinner (I made that last bit up), I had a ‘light bulb’ moment. It had taken me four days to realise that while I was beating myself up for being useless, the other useless ones were at stretch class with stupid grins on their faces.

They’d been engaged in deep-water running while me,  I was pounding the pavements and walking up hills so steep my nose almost touched the tarmac. And moreover, most of the people indulging in the strenuous activities were younger than me, sometimes a lot younger. That’s my excuse.

I wasn’t expecting to, but I loved my five days at the fat farm. The most enjoyable aspect was the complete absence of responsibility. The worst was having to confront my own physical inadequacies and to realise an Olympic Medal is never going to be mine. However, I reckon I’m now up to outstaring that kangaroo. Next time.