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Slim and Fit, Behind the Golden Door
ESCONDIDO, California There is one thing in life that
I truly regret. When I was growing up in the American
Middle West in the 1950s, girls did not sweat. We couldn't
even dream of being jocks or playing on a team. Girls
could swim and they could ice skate. There were no other
options.
In high school, ''gym'' happened about once a week
and was limited to wimpy calisthenics, a trampoline
or volley ball, all supervised by ill-tempered, unattractive,
overweight women. So much for role models.
But around 1968, at the urging of a male friend who
had just returned from a life-changing Outward Bound
program, I bought a pair of high-top boy's basketball
shoes (no Reeboks, no Nikes back then) and began to
jog. Over the years I ran a few mini marathons, working
my way up to an easy, hourlong run several times a week.
Most of the time, I loved every minute of it. (During
one difficult period in my life I truly believed that
if I ran five miles before 9 in the morning, nothing
bad could happen to me the rest of the day. And it usually
didn't.)
But as happens with age, what worked for me in my twenties,
thirties and forties did not work in my fifties. It
was as if the hour-long runs counted not at all. I tried
running longer and more often, but the numbers on the
scale went up and my spirits went down.
Then a friend suggested a group birthday present for
a friend who has everything. A week at the legendary
Golden Door north of San Diego, known for transforming
bodies of the stars and putting the words ''spa cuisine''
into our mouths. And since we didn't want the birthday
girl to go alone, three of us would join her.
For most of my life the very idea of a spa (remember
when we called them fat farms and weight-loss clinics?)
appealed to me about as much as a root canal. I am not
into fluff and pampering, wasn't interested in looking
at two naked carrots on my plate for lunch, surrounded
by snotty people who all looked like Cindy Crawford
in spandex. I've never been into massages, body wraps,
facials or, God forbid, aerobics classes.
But there was one detail that did appeal: For seven
full days no chef would present me a well-meaning glass
of champagne, an ''extra'' tasting of foie gras, a third
or fourth chocolate dessert, another pour of bubbly,
a final sip of eau-de-vie.
Those naked carrots were beginning to look good. the
reality As it turns out, there were no Cindy Crawfords,
just 40 women, ranging in age from 23 to 80, lawyers
and corporate presidents, mothers and daughters, a chef,
a New York agent, a mom whose kids asked if she was
going to have all her fat taken out of her and, yes,
a dentist who specializes in root canals.
In a given day at the Japanese-garden-filled spa, I
spent a good six hours exercising, beginning with strenuous
sunrise mountain hikes, followed by private tennis,
swimming and jogging lessons, multiple meetings with
Mike, my personal trainer and new best friend, grueling
workouts on every kind of machine designed to strengthen
every body part, stretch classes and back care and posture
classes, strength training and aqua dumbbells, body
sculpting and toning. After that, the gal who used to
turn her nose up at massages, now craved her daily hourlong
rubdown, soothing facials, hair treatments, manicures,
pedicures and, the best of all, an almond oil-sea salt
''glow.''
Fitted with a heart-beat monitor to see how hard I
was working and how hard I had to work to be truly fit,
I quickly learned what most women discover. We women
think we work harder than we really do. So all those
hourlong runs were just not strenuous enough, long enough
or frequent enough to offset the extra portions of foie
gras, chocolate cake and champagne.
So Mike took me aside and set up a personal program,
with realistic goals and endless encouragement for getting
and staying as fit and healthy as possible. On my return
to Paris, a treadmill was in order (to fill in on all
those rainy days when jogging is simply not a reality),
as well as a gym membership, for twice-weekly stretch
sessions to balance the cardio-training on the track
and the machine. (Now, I suddenly have two personal
trainers, one in each country, one in each language.)
Back at the Door, when our bodies weren't in constant
motion, we were eating. At snack, lunch and dinner time,
sheeplike behavior took over, and we lunged for the
gloriously arranged bowls of fresh fruits and vegetables
set before us. (When you check into the Golden Door
you meet with a fitness instructor and together determine
how intensely you want to work out and how much or little
you want to eat. I voted for a lot of workout and a
little bit of food.)
Even with the lightest food allotment, I felt I was
eating all day long. Upon return from our hikes, breakfast
appeared on a lovely tray delivered to our spacious
private rooms. Overlooking a bubbling Japanese fountain,
I feasted (on various days) on a single poached egg
with a thin slice of whole wheat toast, mixed fruit
with low-fat cottage cheese sprinkled with almond granola
and raisins, a sprouted bagel boat filled with pineapple-ricotta
cheese.
And there was fruit, fruit, fruit. I think in one week
I ate more raw fruit than I had in the previous year,
and I rediscovered the perfect fast food, the banana.
- EACH day we were allowed to choose from two or three
entrees for lunch and dinner and were amazed by the
Belgian chef Michel Stroot's ability to transform healthy
and wholesome ingredients into dishes that were beautiful,
delicious and, most of all, satisfying. From the Golden
Door's organic vegetable garden and surrounding groves
of kiwis, avocados, oranges and lemons, we were served
food that was pure, unfussy and nourishing to body and
soul.
At appetizer time, we had Stroot's ingenious baked
pita chips dipped into a spicy, lightened hummus spread.
Marvelous frittatas were filled with an appealing mixture
of spinach and artichokes, potatoes and basil, tomatoes
and feta cheese. Chicken breasts were baked and sauced
with a tangy mustard sauce, paired with garden-fresh
green beans and garlic mashed potatoes.
Even welcome slices of duck breast arrived in a fine
raspberry sauce. I also found that the Golden Door becomes
addictive. One woman had been there 35 times. Mothers
and daughters make it an annual family outing. Another
woman, defeated by her doctors' inability to find a
cause for her sore legs, checked in for three weeks
and somehow solved the problem with lots of exercise
and the healthy diet. But not everyone comes to lose
weight. Many of the women were already perfectly fit,
and
Others came for the spiritual side of the program.
Some, recovering from cancer or from a death in the
family, found solace in meditation and thoughtful walks
through the Golden Door's labyrinth. There were many
things I did not do, like tai chi and yoga, cardio box
and Thai box, country dancing, belly-dancing, fencing,
dumbbells, fitball and meditation. But I'm signed up
for a repeat visit, now that I am six kilograms lighter
and counting.
The Golden Door
P.O. Box 463077
Escondido, California, 92046-3077
tel: (1-800) 424-0777 or (1-760) 744-5777
fax: (1-760) 471-2393.
All-inclusive weekly fee is $5,375. The Golden Door
was created by women and for women, but occasional men's
and co-ed weeks are offered.
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