K is for Kick-ass holidays

The idea of the holiday as custodial sentence has been gaining currency for some years, as more and more people take time off to lock themselves away and get fit, thin, mentally well, detoxified or spiritually awakened.

Whatever happened to getting a tan? But just because these holidays aren't fun, it doesn't mean they aren't expensive. A week of exercise and calorie-counting at Wild Fitness, a new chi-chi boot camp in Kenya, will set you back more than a grand. There is, however, a cheaper option. British Military Fitness will take you out for a weekend and force you up a mountain in driving rain, if that's what you want, for less than £200.

The minibus was to leave for Snowdonia at 7pm sharp on the Friday. I imagined being late would incur some kind of punishment, so I arrived in plenty of time. British Military Fitness, whose instructors are all former or serving members of the regular army, the TA or the Royal Marines, offers assault-course work, parachute jumps, trekking in Morocco and wet weekends in Wales to anyone who fancies getting fit the Army way. Most of the people on the minibus were paid-up members and train with BMF every morning. BMF says it caters for all levels of fitness, but my level ? unfit ? seemed a tad under-represented. After seven hours, we arrived at the Bryn Du Centre in Llanberis, a bare and rickety building which doesn't quite merit the name hostel. I was looking forward to a good night's sleep. Actually, I was on a middle bunk in a hired sleeping bag, so I wasn't looking forward to anything.

The morning began with breakfast and assembling our packed lunches. We were expected to clean up after ourselves and then gather in the sitting room for a lecture about kit. So far, it was what I imagine rehab must be like. Finally, we were off to the mountain. There were three climbs to choose from: beginner, intermediate and expert. It was easy for me to decide since I've always considered myself one of life's intermediates.

Soon after we set off, a blanket of fog descended on Snowdon, reducing visibility to the length of the average human arm. Our instructor, Darren, a Geordie ex-Marine, walked a few feet ahead to find a suitable route up the scree and promptly disappeared. 'Follow the sound of my voice,' he said.

At the top the wind was whipping, and all of us put on every single article of clothing we'd brought with us. Standing in the lea of the train platform (yes, you can take a train up, but it's shut for the winter), we ate our lunch and gazed out on the sweeping grey nothingness below. We got back down by sunset, in time for a beer at the caf? at the bottom. Frankly, it wasn't so tough, although the expert group came home well after dark.

BMF instructors subscribe to a 'work hard, play hard' philosophy which might be better described as 'get fit, get drunk'. There were a few pints, a curry, and a few more pints. At some point a guitar was produced and at some point I got hold of it. The rest is a forgiving blur.

The second day's activity involved climbing, with ropes, up a large rockface, and then abseiling down it. Another, perhaps bigger, challenge was standing around in the freezing rain waiting for my turn. Far from being a group of fitness fanatics with a perverse interest in the armed forces, the group were actually a cheery and supportive lot. Some had come to conquer their fear of heights, or to build up a bit of self-confidence. Though I had only tried it once before, my abseil was textbook stuff, except for the bit where I fell down at the end. Afterwards I joined my new team-mates at the bottom, braving the rain to offer shouts of encouragement to those who got stuck, and applaud anyone who came down in one piece. Then I said sod it and went and sat in the bus.

A-Z travel guide for 2002