FT Masterclass: Personal training with Matt Roberts

Matt Roberts is famous for being the man in charge of David Cameron's waistline. But before I am allowed to experience one of his workouts I have to get past his team of fellow personal trainers, who brandish forms and clipboards as readily as dumbbells. If they can't give me the rippling abs of a fitness magazine cover model, it won't be for a lack of data.

During a series of initial assessments, I have my DNA sent off to a lab to determine which form of exercise is best for my body type; I'm put through a blood lactate test, which involves gradually cranking up the treadmill speed while having blood taken from my earlobe to measure lactic acid levels; I am given a physiotherapy check-up and asked to keep a diet diary. Finally, I am handed a 16kg kettle bell that looks like it is made of kryptonite, plus a foam roller and a Swiss ball. (Getting that lot all the way home is a workout in itself.)

"We get to know you really well," says Roberts. "Then we can say, here are your parameters, here are the goals, here are the points on the way to achieving them."

I need his help. In a moment of late-night (and possibly lubricated) enthusiasm I spotted a Facebook post about a 60-mile ultra-marathon from London to Cambridge and declared to the world my intention to run it. By the time I had second thoughts, it was too late - I'd blabbed to too many people. "That's quite a task you've set yourself," says Roberts. "But you can definitely do it. People are now doing extreme events all the time. It's not just the marathon, it's the ultra, the triathlon, the Ironman. They are becoming normal."

Gradually, the test results start to hit my inbox. Blood pressure (slightly high but close to healthy); resting heart rate (not bad but hardly athletic); weight and body fat (don't ask); and an overall assessment of "above average" fitness for my age. But from mediocre, it gets worse. The food diary assessment reads like a poor school report. I have to stop skipping breakfast and cut my coffee intake. Reproach radiating off the screen, the report notes that "alcohol features in your food diary most days. This needs to be reduced." Meanwhile, the physio report highlights several issues, including foot problems that are affecting my knees, spine and shoulders.

Patrick, the marathon and triathlon specialist at the Matt Roberts gym in the heart of the City, tells me to modify my running style so my foot hits the ground flat or on the forward part instead of the heel. Instantly, an array of persistent knee and shin problems disappear. Just as I am celebrating this, he gives me a 24-week timetable comprising endurance runs, strength and stretching, hill work and the evocatively named fartlek, a Swedish word that means "speed play" and combines continuous and interval training. I'm allowed to take Mondays off. Otherwise, I need to be training.

However, the real stiletto between my ego's shoulder blades comes when Roberts reveals he is the same age as me - 41. I churn with envy. The man is exceptionally chiselled. His hair is slightly greyer than mine (ha!) but otherwise he looks ageless.

For my workout, he has devised a session of box jumps, glute raises, lunges, jump squats and fiendish variations on the plank. My balance is tested as much as my strength. "Runners always forget the core work," he says. "So after long distances the hips start to move from side to side and they lose stability."

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Strength work used to be thought of as detrimental to endurance running but now it is considered crucial. These exercises are designed to firm up my "structure". I think of it as tightening the bolts on my inner scaffolding to stop it falling apart under the strain of a million jarring steps.

They are all easy for the first five, slightly tricky for another five - and then make me sweat, grunt, strain and collapse. One exercise is a bona fide killer: on hands and knees, I have to stretch out an arm and raise the opposite leg high, and then bring the wrist and knee together under the body; this is repeated 25 times, both sides, for three reps or until meltdown.

Roberts's tone is 95 per cent encouragement, 5 per cent uncompromising steel. It's the 5 per cent that has my attention. I can see why he is good at pushing people who are used to giving orders rather than taking them. Apart from David and Samantha Cameron, his services have reportedly been called on by Naomi Campbell, Tom Ford and Michael McIntyre, among others, including a mystery royal. But he says he never went hunting for a celebrity client list. "We have 1,500 private clients and the celebs make up a small percentage. And when they are here, no one bats an eyelid."

His response to my request for some gossip is to smile and remark how many times his gyms have been scoured by security guards. Eventually, he does reveal his favourite client: Mel C - the former Spice Girl. "I've known her for years. She is physically and mentally driven but she's great fun and a dream to work with."

What about David Cameron? Finely tuned athlete or blancmange? Roberts, who describes himself as a "political nut", will say only that he is a good friend and a decent tennis player.

More typical of his clients are "people with high aspirations who are time poor and have very distinctive goals". If you can already picture that demographic, the fees will complete the image: £195 for the initial consultations and £2,000 for 25 sessions with a personal trainer.

"In the City during the recession, people needed a place like this more than ever," says Roberts. So is everyone who comes in a furiously competitive hedge-fund manager? "Some are driven but some come in and have no control over their exercise and diet. Amid all the other pressures they face, the thing that has dropped off the map is their own bodies."

With endurance tests now part of the zeitgeist, extreme fitness challenges are proliferating - from Tough Mudder competitions to Spartan Beast, Rat Race Dirty Weekend and dozens of similar events that jostle with marathons, duathlons, triathlons and endless other modes of self-inflicted physical punishment.

"You can definitely do it," repeats Roberts. Staring at my training schedule and my new dietary instructions, I am not so sure.

Barney Thompson is a reporter on the FT's UK news desk

Photographs: Cian Oba-Smith

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