Get boss fit: inside the new 35k training plan for CEOs

“We’d usually go in easy,” says Gaffney, pinching my fat rolls with a set of calipers and asking me to stand topless in front of a white kitchen wall for a “before” photo. “But as we’ve only got a fortnight to work on you, we’re going to start at full throttle.” I am 83.6 kilos, with a body fat percentage of 16 per cent. “Cristiano Ronaldo is five per cent.” Cool. My subscapular, umbilicus, suprailiac and thigh muscle sizes are entered onto a form. Gaffney wants me to “excel” like a spreadsheet.

But first, CEOs need structure. A WhatsApp group, “Sam & CEO P.T.”, winks into existence on my phone at 7pm the night before Gaffney appears in my life. It’s here that I am introduced to trainers Phil Jones (an enormous beefcake who supports Arsenal and appears twice on my doorstep for 6am training sessions) and Joe Dynes (smaller than me but ripped, and leading me on an 8am Saturday workout). Both drive all the way from Watford and are extraordinarily cheerful.

By the end of the first Monday, the group picture has been updated: it’s a cropped-in image of my beardy head and bare shoulders from the “before” photo, piously looking to the heavens like Christ in Da Vinci’s The Last Supper (I imagine he was just as hungry). “Feel free to stick another pic in ... easier for all the WhatsApp groups to identify clients,” says Gaffney. I’m too tired to bother.

Communication is key — “At your door in three mins, Sam” writes Gaffney at 5.19 one morning. A meal plan (replete with an intimidating picture of a single courgette), uplifting blog posts and peppy motivation from the trainers also becomes regular WhatsApp fodder.

I’m expected to post pictures of meal plans. “Morning, Sam. Start the day off with your shake and berries”; “Morning, Sam. Let us know what you’re getting for lunch today”; “What was dinner, Sam? Do you have a photo?” Do CEOs not need alone time? I’m instructed to post updates about what extracurricular exercise I’m doing — tonight it’s five-a-side football. “Careful on those tackles (your body is CEO Personal Training’s for the next five days),” cautions Gaffney.

A typical hour of training in my living room contained floor sprints, with moveable mats under my feet, burpees, crunches, one-handed planks, squat thrusts, bicep curls, upright sprints towards a wall while restrained by an elastic band, and resistance deadlifts using a similar band. There was 20 minutes of meditation, then stretching from the trainer — excellent.

My God, I was trying. There are moments in week one when I genuinely thought my routine would break me. Phil and I train in the local park on Wednesday to spare my sleeping girlfriend the clunking of 6am weights. “Give me a seven out of 10 effort sprint to that bin to warm up — NOW NINE OUT OF 10,” cheers Phil, his enthusiasm suddenly shifting to concern. “Woah, that was nine?” he asks. “I expected nine to be gentler in a warm-up,” I say, regretting not bringing a bottle of water, retching into a bin.

A woman holding a can of lager asks how much she needs to join in while Phil puts me through a series of man-makers (press-up position onto weights, then lifting them up for an overhead press, repeat). “I think we need more privacy next time,” Phil says sadly. On Friday I pour my heart out to psychologist Felix Economakis, who talks me through breaking down stress.

Nobody’s perfect. Did I always have time to cook dinner? No. I had a Five Guys burger to cheer myself up one evening, panicked, then bought an M&S roasted butternut squash and red pepper salad to photograph. It stayed in my fridge for a fortnight like a sad prop. I woke up on Saturday hungover, hurriedly tidied wine glasses away so Joe would think I’d had a quiet night in (like parents, trainers always know). The nadir was the aftermath of a boozy barbecue the next day, waking up very late on Sunday to a stream of messages from my concerned trainers asking what I was eating. “Had about five pints of beer,” I lied.

“Aha. Well I’m sure you don’t need me to say there isn’t much place for regular beer consumption... best booze choice would be a gin and slimline or dry white,” wrote Phil.

Week two felt amazing. I was rising earlier, enjoying workouts, following the meal plan (salmon and rice became a staple). After our last 5.25am workout, Gaffney told me my body fat was down 2.5 per cent, and that I’d gained 0.4 kilos of muscle. I missed them when they were gone. A whole year of that and I’d have been an Adonis, I’m sure. Or dead. I guess we’ll never know.

ceopersonaltraining.co.uk