Biggest Loser - a personal perspective There were two key pieces of information that I took away from three days at The Biggest Loser Retreat in the Gold Coast hinterland. The first was that pulling a two tonne 4WD is possible even in 35 degree heat. The second is that the average human is supposed to defecate 12 inches of, well, you know, a day. Those two lessons summed up the place nicely - it was both everything and nothing like I'd expected. I'd rocked up at The Biggest Loser Retreat halfway through its first week-long program of 2014. Formerly known as The Golden Door, it's rebranded to align itself with the successful Biggest Loser TV franchise, the latest of which has its intrepid fitness warriors working hard to trim down the entire town of Ararat, Victoria. I expected an Orwellian-style gulag featuring giant billboards of Michelle Bridges, Commando and the other one staring down at me with their pitiless, unblinking eyes, the whites no doubt whitened by a gluten-free diet, daily triathlons, and sheer rage at the flabby world around them. Instead, the trainers seemed like human beings, and the 86 hectares of bushland at the foot of Mt Wongawallen was remarkably free of propaganda material. It was set out in such a way to encourage your inclination to exercise. I mean that literally: the guests" wooden chalets were all positioned along a steep uphill road, meaning every time I wanted to shower I had to push myself nearly a kilometre upwards. It's amazing how quickly I became comfortable sitting in my own sweat and quietly reeking. The onsite gyms, pools and workout HQ (ominously called "The Hangar") are all far away from each other, and from the dining and recreation room, which acts as a central hub. It's where you eat, watch cooking demonstrations, attend health and lifestyle seminars, and unwind at day's end with boardgames or a DVD on the compound's only television screen - if you're still upright or conscious of course. Because you don't go to The Biggest Loser Retreat just for the the unavoidable incidental exercise. I was thrown into the full schedule on the Friday. A 35 minute hilly bushwalk at 6am was followed by ten minutes on a rowing machine. I managed to make it back to my chalet for a shower and change into non-sweaty exercise gear, then it was up to the hub for breakfast and a talk on goal-setting by Mick, one of six resident trainers. It was Mick's Nissan Navarro that we had the pleasure of pulling as a "reward" after our two hour morning session of interval circuit training. The sun was blazing down, but there we were, on the retreat's top oval, split into groups of five, repeatedly dragging this truck 20 metres and trying to beat our own times. I've never appreciated those kind of stunts on the TV show because they look somewhat sadistic. I guess however that consent is everything, because all of a sudden it mattered to me that our group get our time below 10 seconds. A pool session after that was simply glorious. You get used to carrying a bag around with you all day containing your essential exercise and pool gear, but thankfully the retreat has a never-ending supply of towels, water and sunscreen at every exercise location. Meals were served like clockwork at 7.30am, 12.30pm and 5.30pm each day. Everything was prepared fresh on site by chefs who also held the cooking demonstrations. There was no alcohol, no red meat, minimal salt and sugar and no carbs at dinner. But there were delicious servings of chicken and fish, big bowls of salad and veges, succulent fruit and tasty dressings. Everyone ate with relish and delight not just because it was good food, because we had damn well earned it. Apart from a strange craving for hot chips, I didn't feel hungry. Afternoons were designated for more easy-going exercise, which in my case meant 45 minutes of stretching followed by 45 minutes of boxing, all led by Kyle, a Mancunian-born exercise science graduate who really knew his way around an "oohpa-koot." It was Kyle who informed us during the late afternoon seminar on toxins that the average human should rid themselves of a footlong's worth of number 2s a day. I know I'll never look at Subway the same again. By the end of that day, I was exhausted. But damn it if I didn't feel completely proud of myself. I got the sense that feeling of pride and accomplishment was the biggest buzz for all the Biggest Loser campers: making your body move so much and surviving; managing without those little sweets and treats that help a normal day along; being away from your usual social groups and among people who only want to see you do well. Everyone had different reasons for attending. There was a Sydney plumber who'd recently starred in that reality show Come Date With Me. He had few kind things to say about the lady in that show, but that was no matter, because he was accompanied by the truly stunning fiancé he'd started dating after filming finished. The two of them were athletic, healthy types who weren't there to lose weight, just to kick start their fitness routine four months out from their nuptials. There was a woman from Melbourne who'd been made redundant and wanted to spend six weeks making a positive change to her life. There was a mum-of-three from Maryborough who was taking nine weeks away to lose weight so she'd better be able to care of and run after her teenaged kids. There was Bethany, a sweet but slightly nervous Canberran who'd managed to drop from 170kg to 120kg on her own, but was spending 12 weeks at the retreat to get under 100kg so she could have an operation to remove excess skin. "I never want to be like that again," she said. There was Freya, a beautiful and funny nursing student from Melbourne who I wished I could be friends with in the real world. Freya had spent two weeks at the retreat before Christmas, then a week at home, before returning for another four week stint. She didn't want to tell patients they needed to lose weight while she herself was carrying too much. There were teachers, lawyers, doctors and an environmental scientist. The abundance of working professionals made sense given the time and money required to attend the retreat. But I didn't hear a single bad word about the retreat from any of them - remember, this is a place roughly ten kilometres away from any kind of chocolate - because they were all happy to be in a place where they could just focus on themselves. The stresses and temptations of the outside world faded away; their lives could just be about working on their own bodies and minds; they only needed to be responsible for themselves. The culmination for each week's stay at The Biggest Loser Retreat is the weigh-in. Campers are weighed on arrival, then re-weighed each Saturday to measure body composition. The retreat puts the focus on muscle gain and fat loss, rather than just straight kilograms. As I waited to get my own body composition breakdown, I watched as each camper got their results, and excitedly high-fived their new friends. Everyone was so proud of each other. Freya lost six kilograms of fat. "I'm so happy," she beamed, and she really was. I wanted to be like her, all committed and dedicated and cool. Instead, I had a mini-meltdown. There they were, in black and white, my numbers. My body fat percentage, my muscle percentage, my actual weight and my recommended weight (based on an average for my age and height). None of it was a value judgement on me as a person, deeming me unworthy. But it was confirmation of things I knew in my heart - I'm carrying 20 kilograms too much for my frame, my body fat percentage is far greater than normal and while I have a solid amount of muscle mass, it needs strengthening. And so I got very, very teary. The self-recriminations were harsh, the lack of phone reception and no TV meant no escape from introspection, and there were no hot chips to comfort me. But on Sunday morning, I still got up for the morning bush walk, and even followed it up with a few basic weight-lifting exercises Mick the trainer had shown me. Freya was treadmilling at the time, and encouraged me as I squatted and lunged and lat-pulled-down. If super-cool Freya thought I could keep going, who was I to argue? I packed up my chalet, had breakfast, and made my farewells to the other campers. It was sweet to watch the group hug and wish each other well, whether they were heading back to reality or staying for more. Many wished me well in my attempts to write about my experiences; all hoped that I had had a positive time there. And overall, I had. Battles with one's appearance and health are so individual, one could wonder how a place like The Biggest Loser Retreat could be of assistance. But while there is an emphasis on taking advantage of all the exercise the program offers, the trainers understood that everyone would work at a different pace. They seemed to get that feeling safe rather than judged, and having fun rather than undergoing punishment, were better motivators. They actually seemed like your friends, not your enemies. Two things happened in the immediate aftermath of leaving the Biggest Loser Retreat. The first was that I caved and bought hot chips for lunch. My first meal outside of the place and I had to have the hot chips that I'd been quietly craving for three days. The second thing was that I joined a gym. Not only that, but I went to the gym and did the weight-lifting exercises Mick taught me. And then I did it again a few days later. Then I had hot chips again. But now that I've finished writing this, I'm going back to the gym again.