My heart is pounding, my breathing is ragged and the muscles in my arms burn as I lower myself into a push-up position from a drop down squat for what feels like the millionth time in a row. To my horror I suddenly feel a hand firmly pushing me further down to the ground and a woman's voice yelling that I need to get even lower. My rage at the injustice and impossibility of the task is only exceeded by the feeling of my spirit being crushed and my urgent need to collapse.
Welcome to boot camp.
Like most neurotic women obsessed with losing inches and dropping those last few pounds, I'm no stranger to fad diets and fitness crazes. I've tried juicing, fasting, supplements, low-carb diet regimes. Smartphone apps for food diaries, running and weight training. Personal training, pedometers and downloads of the latest gym workouts promising to turn you into Jessica Alba within three days. A lot of money, time and tears later, I'm still not the toned and athletic body shape that I've long dreamed of. So I've decided to junk in the fads and get serious with my fitness regime.
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