Fat camp - one week down.....

One week down and 3 to go (http://rockafellaskank.blogspot.com/2009/05/fat-camp-beginning.html). The thought still depresses me. I guess I know I am not ready to go home. I would still be tempted by tinned caramel and meringues. By chocolate and hot chips. Here we learn that ‘food is fuel’. Full stop. That we are not meant to savour it; to enjoy it. Or to crave it. I don’t know that I want to live by that mantra. We also learn that we should be ‘living in the moment’. This is a biggie for me – a constant worrier about what is to come. Nonetheless, I want to ask how, if we are living in the moment, we don’t enjoy the food (that we are eating in that same moment).

Many diets and dieticians tell you to focus on what you are eating. Savour it. Enjoy it. They tell you not to eat distractedly in front of tv or shovel food in while reading, but to savour every morsel.

Either way, I like to think that one day I will be able to think of food without having a lot of baggage attached to it. I know I need to break the nexus of food and tv, food and reading, food and sitting, well…. food and everything really. I need to live a life where I have things other than food to fill it. Whether that mindset will be broken here, I do not know.

I survived the 1000 steps, though what I wasn’t told was that the walk TO the steps was as bad as the steps themselves. Another camper walked with me and encouraged me the whole way. Her distraction tactics didn’t entirely work and I whinged the entire time, but I did make it. Only 46 minutes of agony.

Unable to ‘live in the now’ I started obsessing about having to do the same climb in a fortnight. Plus a hike up a long incline (mountain type thing) next week. As I have said before, I know that worrying doesn’t help, but as yet I am unable to prevent myself from doing so. My first goal, is to allow myself to worry but then tell myself that there is nothing I can do about it and that it doesn’t matter if I struggle.

What I am slowly coming to terms with is that I am unfit. Overweight and unfit. I did know this, but suspect I have been in denial about the extent of my problem. Though I am the least fit I have perhaps ever been in my 41years, as I have a fairly athletic history, I expected to be able to perform better than many people here. That has not been the case. In fact I am ranked in the bottom two of all twelve. Having said that – that ranking mostly relates to activities that involve us doing inclines and hills – at which (you now know well) I under-perform on.

My biggest fear coming in was that my injured ankle would hold me back. In all honesty, it is only my fitness that is holding me back. The trainers have not been sympathetic to my injury, rarely offering me an alternative to running and games in the sand (the latter jarring my foot quite a bit).

After one week, I am unable to detect any improvement in my fitness. Logic, however, tells me that I can only be getting fitter. Perhaps the heavy, aching limbs prevent me from feeling lively and energetic.

On a more positive note, I am trying. When told to run, I try. I cannot run far and yearn for the days – even a year or so ago – when I was able to build up to 20mins on the treadmill. But those that know me, know I do complain when given a challenge, but then go ahead and do it anyway. My pilates instructor will attest to the fact that she will tell me I have to do 15 repetitions of an exercise. I start complaining halfway through, but usually determinedly do 20. Failure is not an option. Giving up is not an option, but for the first time (and if honest), I suspect I have to realise that mediocrity is what I am fated to achieve here and all I can strive for.

Meanwhile, I head into week 2. I can only hope that before I know it, I am back here, reviewing that week. In retrospect week 1 has flown past. With tightly-programmed days and essentially no free time until after dinner, the day is taken away from us. We move from one activity to the next. While a couple of people who have been here for sometime, skip activities, the rest of us do not dare. And, most of the classes (complementing the exercise) are enjoyable.

Adro Sarnelli (winner of Biggest Loser here in Australia and who owns the camp), himself, is affable and charismatic. He is genuinely committed to this place and to us. To our journey. Passionate about his cause – weight loss – he is happy to share his successes and failures with us. He also answers obscure questions about his time on “The Biggest Loser” with good humour and patience.

Other than the manager, Dante, we are entertained by a group of trainers and support staff. The guests themselves reflect mish-mash of society. Younger than I imagined and slimmer than I imagined, I am the third oldest guest and third biggest person here. We have mostly bonded as a group, though obviously some getting along better than others.

Here we are laid bare. Much of our bravado and the barriers we have built around us are broken down so our raw selves are on display. Sometimes it isn’t pretty. But it is real and I guess that’s all that matters.

Written on 16th May 2009. Subsequently posted.