Deanna Delamotta stayed at the FitFarms in the Peak District. Here's her diary

6am: Alarm buzzes. Groan. I try to unfold my aching body and ease it out of bed before staggering to the bathroom for a shower – a cold shower. I’m sharing a cottage with four other girls and Mikael Perrot our French chef. The dining room, where 26 FitFarmers gather for their meals, is in our house. Unfortunately, the amount of electricity Mikael uses for cooking combined with hair dryer usage tends to be too much for the supply...Great.

6.45am: Work out with Zuzana Kubisova. Slovakian Zuzana is a big fan of squatting. She also likes putting us through our paces with weights, preferably while squatting. How is it that holding two 2kg weights above your head can be so painful? Someone feels dizzy and has to leave the room. First casualty of the day.

7.45am: Breakfast – like most healthy eating gurus, Mikael is a big fan of porridge. I’m not, but his variation on a theme, flavoured with cinnamon and a mango compote tastes surprisingly good. I wolf mine down along with my sole injection of caffeine for the day – a small cup of black coffee. Meanwhile Emma, my dining room buddy, complains her flapjack (our mid morning snack) is much smaller than everyone else’s. I have to agree.

But do I swap with her, for the sake of the sisterhood? Not on your life! All compassion is gone where food is concerned. Mikael reveals that a woman once grabbed him by the scruff of the throat and demanded more oatcakes.

We stagger onto the bus and head to Chatsworth House. Our mission: a 6.5 mile walk. I team up with Darlene and Emma for the walk, which I find surprisingly easy. I used to regularly go hiking so it’s not surprising this doesn’t kill me.

Emma does a shorter route and looks around the shops at Chatsworth while we hike on. Back on the bus, she tells us she wasn’t tempted by the sweet treats on offer: “Food used to be my main pleasure in life, now that’s been taken away from me what else is there to live for?”

Back at base camp, near Matlock, lunch is Frittata (made with leeks, onions and various other unidentified vegetables) and salad. Another tasty dish served up by Mikael. He may be a bit on the grumpy side, but I can’t fault his cooking. I almost have a skip in my step as I head off for the next session.

1.30pm: Zuzana introduces us to kettle bells – a weight with a handle that you swing into the air dramatically above your head, hoping you don’t let go and knock out the person behind. Of course, there’s quite a bit of squatting too (it is Zuzana). My thighs are hurting. My hips are hurting. My head’s hurting.

2.30pm: Interval training. Power walking for a minute, then running for a minute – or walking throughout for yours truly. Having injured my calf muscle on day one when I broke into a jog, I’m not taking any chances.

3.30pm: Boxercise. Boxing is to Charlotte what squatting is to Zuzana. And yet she doesn’t look in the slightest bit rough – all blonde and petite and pretty. I’m not made to fight. A feeble left hook and an even feebler right convince me this lark should be left to the likes of Ricky Hatton. After an exhausting half hour Charlotte urges us to pick up the resistance bands to do yet more upper body work.

5.30pm: Teatime. Another culinary tour de force from Mikael; chicken coated in a delicious peanut sauce with chilli relish. If this is low calorie, bring it on! If only the portions weren’t starter-sized.

6.30pm: Abba aerobics – throwing ourselves around the room to Dancing Queen and co – except it’s not the real Abba singing but one of those “made for exercise groups” tapes. Still, it’s a fun way to end the day.

7.30pm: Snack – poached pear and natural yoghurt, followed by general camp euphoria at another day down and a bit of gossiping and sniping too. Most women here are sharing with strangers because the cost of a single room is £400 more. But the emotional attachments women have with food and the impact of being deprived of it has led to rows – about snoring, mostly. Luckily I can snore in peace because I have a single room.

9pm: Bedtime. I crawl into bed and hope I don’t have a nightmare about an accident involving me, a kettle bell and a personal trainer.

Deanna Delamotta stayed at the FitFarms in the Peak District

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