"You'll need these," said Meg with a wry smile as two large folded rectangles landed on the reception desk at the Griffith Health Club of the JW Marriott Hotel.
She looked disappointed to see me. I must admit, despite sporting my most professional work attire, I looked, essentially, a sad excuse for a man.
Accepting the neatly-pressed towels, I slid off to prepare for a test run of the annual International Fitness Challenge, a gruelling cardiovascular strength test, which 30 to 50 athletic contestants will undertake next week. Upon my return, Danny Cordero, the Recreation Manager of the pristine gym, looked even more disheartened by my scraggly appearance than his employee.
Dressed in my faded Nike T-shirt, my "Mars Bar" shorts – I use them for work, rest and play – and battered Lacoste trainers, I was guided to a small, dark exercise room to begin my 30 minutes of hell.
"The first part of the fitness challenge is testing your cardiovascular endurance," began Danny. "It's composed of a 2km bike ride, 1.5km row and 1km run. So we're looking to monitor your cardiovascular strength over a short distance and record the time. Basically, how fast can you finish all three."
The room was a small, lowly-lit square with a TV overlooking a plethora of the finest fitness equipment. As I took to the first leg of the challenge, Danny informed me that there was to be no pause between disciplines; the stopwatch was set and running continuously.
Determined to impress, I set about the cycling machine like a greyhound from the traps. With the resistance at six – athletes usually opt for between eight and 12 – I pedal furiously until the first signs of struggle, worryingly, at a will-shattering 0.3km. My legs are starting to tire but, because of the limited resistance, I simply can't slow down.
At 1km the first beads of sweat form on my brow. My technique starts to fail me, legs have a mind of their own and I find it hard to co-ordinate. When the red dial reads 1.8km I find one last burst of speed and blast past the 2km mark in a time of four mins, 12 seconds.
I soon regret those final 200m. The rowing machine, long and low to the ground, looks simple to master, but as soon as I strap my feet in and grab the pull-bar, I'm in trouble.
With resistance at full, I "choose" to perform longer, slower strokes to cover more distance. My speed ranges between 25 and 28 strides a minute, whereas athletes average somewhere between 30 and 40.
The distance clock at the machine's tip creeps to 300m. I fold and unfold like an accordion, using all my upper-body strength to drag myself close into the machine, push my legs out from the toes and repeat the movement over and over again.
First 315m, then 327m, 337m, 346m; this is taking an eternity. I produce sporadic bursts of speed, desperate to get the clock moving faster. My calf muscles begin to ache because my erratic breathing isn't getting enough oxygen to them. The whirling sound of the wire as it uncoils inside the machine drowns out the strange whining noise I make every time I complete one full stride.
"That's 1.2km, only 300m to go," barks Danny as sweat drips from my face. I can't even grip the pull-bar properly, but somehow row my way to the finish line. The bar crashes back into its socket as I gasp for air, body trembling uncontrollably. After six minutes and 1.5km I'm so unco-ordinated that I fail to undo the straps holding my feet to the machine. Danny, stopwatch in hand, has to assist me. It's hardly my finest moment, but I've no time to dwell on it. I've got 1km to run.
Climbing wearily aboard the treadmill, I start off with a light jog, but it isn't long before sweat is cascading down my face and into my eyes, my sweatband rendered redundant. I'm so out of breath at 0.3km that I think I'm not going to make it. I try to distract myself by making my "Spurs Greatest XI" in my head and 400m pass in an instant. Cranking the speed up to 13kmph – competitors will expect to run at around 18kmph – I try to hit the home straight hard. My legs can barely carry my lagging body, but I stumble past 1km and off the machine.
Not able to speak, I move into the bright reception where Meg looks concerned. "Are you alright?", she asks. "W-w-w-ater," I gasp. She rushes over to the water dispenser as I collapse on the sofa. I feel nauseous and my legs are shaking furiously. The room has turned a strange pale green colour.
Danny, trained in tai chi and kickboxing, breaks the news. "You actually did really great on the treadmill," he says. "You ran a 4.52. So you've a total of 15.17 for the cardiovascular section. That's better then average... now for the strength and endurance."
My heart sinks. Still reeling from my exertions, I take to the bench-press and attempt to perform as many repetitions as I can in two minutes, lifting 60 per cent of my weight. My soaked T-shirt clings to my back when I lie down on the cold bench, sending a shudder through my tired body.
The average amount of repetitions expected in two minutes is 40. I manage eight. With a struggle. My arms are so weak by this point that I can't balance the barbell to make it to nine. I blame my unorthodox technique for my poor showing, but really it's my feeble chest muscles, shoulder muscles, triceps…
I go on to test my biceps, back muscles and forearms with 40 per cent assisted chin-ups and dips – "assisted" means the weight is actually working with me – yet disappoint, again, by registering eight and 10 respectively. I'm too fragile to even care as I move to my final strength test, the squat. Despite not being able to feel my arms, I redeem myself. Somewhat. With the barbell strewn across my back, I manage to do 35 repetitions in two minutes, lifting 60 per cent of my weight.
I slam the barbell to the floor, but have never felt so weak. I can't even hold a conversation with Danny as he leads me out of the gym and into the reception. I'm told to take an isotonic drink and lie down in the changing room to recuperate. The sound of water slapping off the jacuzzi walls doesn't do my queasy stomach any favours. I feel sick, the pain insurmountable.
Lying quivering in one huge towel it becomes clear why Meg gave me two. I bury my aching head deep into the second one and pray that it'll all go away.
ALL YOU NEED TO KNOWThe 12th JW Marriott International Fitness Challenge takes place on Friday in the Deira Grand Ballroom of the hotel.
With more than 30 competitors, it invites fitness enthusiasts, athletes and experts to participate in a test of strength and muscle endurance.
"It is the battle of the best," says organiser Danny Cordero. "It doesn't matter what level you're at, if you're aiming for the components of fitness then anyone has a good chance of beating the fitness professionals.
"It's an annual event and the core purpose is to go above and beyond. So the hotel is not only serving its guests, but also the community in promoting a healthy lifestyle for individuals.
"We're doing this to encourage members to perform better on their own level, to challenge themselves and to push that little bit further in their training programme."
- For more information and to register call Danny Cordero: 04 262 4444
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