Sunday’s Washington Post devoted too many tape-measured inches to a fitness boot camp vacation. Isn’t that an oxymoron? Imagine spending three precious vacation days at Camp Lejeune. Gee, where do I sign up?
An hour from Tampa you can pay $1,475 recession dollars for 3 days of punishing activities such as a 4-mile beach run before breakfast. If that doesn’t float your avoirdupois, step on a scale at 6am (A splendid way to start the day.) Schlep a 5-gallon water bottle tipping the scales at 45 pounds around a gym. Scuttle crablike across a basketball court. Meet with a nutritionist. Gloriosky!
Gee, where have I been all my life?
But wait, for all the self-inflicted corporal punishment there are mealtime rewards: Yogurt and berries! Turkey burgers! Brown rice and broccoli!
Istanbul is so last year. I want to suffer!
I don’t know about you, but I favor strolling, climbing museum stairs and bending my elbow (sometimes both) when I leave home. Travel for me is a chance to exercise my eyes and ears and mind. And dining options. I don’t want to compete with—or look like—Isabelle Caro.
Forget jogging suits, working out in sweaty gyms, watercress and tofu.
Bring on comfy jeans, walking outdoors, meat and potatoes. And dessert.