TEN-HUT AND GIVE ME 20!

It’s crazy what you think about when times get tough. On the downward stroke of my thirty-fifth push-up in a public park at 6:05 on a pitch-black November morning, this is what flashed through my mind: How long did it take Pavlov to condition his dogs to slobber at the ringing of a bell?

It had taken only one day to condition me, except my bell was Lawrence Whitner’s exhortations about fat. Unfortunately, Bill Horn, a fellow trainee, had missed that first day. Horn, what did you eat yesterday? Whitner had just barked. When Horn got to the carne asado , I dropped to the ground. Carne asado? Horn, in this class foreign languages will not get you extra credit. Everyone down and give me 35!

Welcome to the Sergeant’s Program, where well-heeled professionals shell out $345 up front and $80 a month thereafter for a little old-fashioned discipline. Five mornings a week at six- rain, snow, or shine- they line up in parks around Washington, D.C., to complete an exhaustive regimen of laps, push-ups, chin-ups, dips, and whatever other torture the Program’s drill sergeants dish out. We pay good money to be led around like a bunch of children, admits four-year veteran John Ridenour, a real estate broker. On certain days the program seems to be nothing more than an exercise in masochism. One drill sergeant recently ran his charges to a McDonald’s and forced them to do push-ups near the drive-through window while he shouted out the fat content of an Egg McMuffin.

Getting browbeaten into shape by a drill sergeant is a growing trend. Since 1989, the Sergeant’s Program has grown from a handful of guys being screamed at by one former naval petty officer to an army of 700 men and women being led by 30 drill sergeants every morning. Fed by an apparent yearning for the discipline and simplicity absent in plush health clubs filled with ever-more-complicated exercise machinery, demand is so high that Patrick Avon, the program’s President, runs a regular help-wanted ad for new drill sergeants in the Washington Post. He’s expanding the program to New York and Philadelphia, and is, he says, looking at franchising all over the country. Another company in Washington is now offering a military-style fitness regimen geared toward overweight people. And for those living where there are no drill sergeants, a company called Elite Fitness Systems (800-423-2874) markets a series of videos based on the Navy SEAL workout, featuring- you guessed it- lots of low-tech push-ups, pull- ups, and squats.

Look, says Ridenour, it’s not like we’re stupid. We know what’s going on and we buy right into it. It works. We’re all professionals or parents giving orders all the time, and it’s nice to regress a bit, to take orders sometimes. Life is too soft. We all need more discipline.

The Enlistment

When my wife kindly mentioned that a new pair of pants made me look less cylindrical, I contacted Avon, who calls himself Sarge. No problem, he said. we’ll whip your ass. But first, I was to report for an evaluation.

I found Sarge- a 39-year old, 185-pound crew-cut vegetarian with, as he says, biceps and an attitude-balancing on a bongo board in his office. He asked why I wanted to join the Sergeant’s Program.

"To get in better shape."

"Weak! Avon barked."

The Sergeant’s Program isn’t the answer; it’s the means. We examined my diet (too much meat, not enough water), and I took a few tests: as many push-ups as I could do without stopping (39, which Sarge deemed okay); sit-ups (33: bad); body-fat content (12 percent: good); and pulse and blood pressure before and after three minutes of stepping on and off a platform to the quick-paced beat of a metronome. You need improvement in all areas, Sarge said. I was to report for three weeks of boot camp at six on Monday morning, at a park near my house.

Reporting for Duty

Energized by fantasies of heroic strength, I bounded out of bed at 5:15. By the time I got to the park , the temperature stood at 33 degrees. I found six other figures lurking in the darkness near the playground equipment. Boots! came a sudden yell, as a clean-cut Whitner sprinted into our midst. What are you doing standing around? From now on, get here 10 minutes before six and run to warm up. Let’s go! Now!

After we followed Whitner, running up and down a parking lot for five minutes, we endured jumping jacks, then stretches and the morning inquisition. Hoffman, what did we eat yesterday? Start with breakfast and spit it out. When I got to my salami-sandwich lunch, Whitner roared, Salami? Everyone drop and give me 20. And so it went. If someone’s diet was fattening, we did push-ups. If someone hadn’t had eight or more glasses of water, we did push-ups. If someone hadn’t eaten enough, we did push-ups. All the while, he hectored: From now on you are to eat three meals a day, preferably four or five, and nothing at least three hours before going to bed.

We ran for another 12 minutes; we did crunches on the cold ground, pull-ups on the monkey bars, dips on the park benches; and then we went through the whole series of stretching again. At 6:45, it was over. Dawn was breaking.

By seven I was home eating my second breakfast and feeling like a Thoroughbred. By dinnertime I felt as if I’d been run over by a truck. I hurt everywhere. But Whitner’s Pavlovian conditioning was working. I steered clear of the salami.

On Day Two I didn’t bound out of bed. I crawled. By 5:50, I was running laps around the parking lot. By 6:10 - Horn having showed up a day late and full of fatty Mexican slop, and a woman having confessed to eating nothing but a bagel the previous day - we had already knocked out 75 push-ups. We stretched, banged out 80 crunches, ran for 20 minutes, and stretched again.

By Day Three we were starting to talk to one another. Horn was 34, the father of three, a civilian engineer for the navy. I used to run six or eight miles no problem, he confessed as we slogged through the darkness. Now I can’t believe I’ve got to pay someone to yell at me. Van Kirk, a 29-year-old real-estate appraiser, put it simply: I belong to Holiday Spa and I never go.

The days passed. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays were heavy on calisthenics, with a light run; Tuesdays and Thursdays we ran for 25 minutes. The five-day-a-week pace was relentless. One morning I thought, To hell with it. When the alarm rang, I hugged my pillow and went back to sleep. Whitner called that night, quizzed my wife about my diet, and then ordered me to do 45 push-ups. I dropped to the floor immediately.

My wife thought I was nuts. Who is this guy, Jim Jones? she asked. But silly as it seemed, the drill-sergeant badgering was exactly what a lazy lout like me needed.

Indeed, it was the heart of the program. The workout, although simpler than the machine-based exercises of most health clubs, was, well, just a workout. It was no better or worse than any other good all-around program of stretching, aerobic conditioning, and strength training. The key - as Horn, Van Kirk, and I knew all too well - wasn’t the initial burst of inspiration to get into better shape but the discipline to do it each and every day. And knowing that your buddies were running and pumping in the cold darkness, wondering why you weren’t there to writhe along with them, testifying to your dietary indulgences and then suffering the consequences- that was motivation. The critical issue of training for any sport is what we call adherence, and research has found that people are much more likely to stick to it if there is some sort of social commitment and obligation, says Shane Murphy, a former sports psychologist for the U.S. Olympic Committee and the author of The Achievement Zone.

Steve Niven, A 51-year-old labor negotiator whom I met later in Avon’s more- advanced maintenance program, agrees. He claims to have the best attendance record through his seven years of daily Sergeant’s Program provides motivation, competition, support, and, yes, peer pressure , he says. The push-ups aren’t a big deal, but if you know you’ll have to report in front of the group, the thought goes through your head, Do I want to put mayonnaise on my sandwich?

People are accountable to their checkbooks, to their spouses, to their jobs, to everything but their health, Avon says. We’re an indulgent society, and things that taste good and feel good often aren’t good for you, yet they’re incredibly accessible. The Sergeant’s Program holds you accountable. We’re the wicked stepmother, the jail warden, providing a disciplined and structured regimen to break poor eating and exercising habits that people have had for 30 or 40 years. The body wasn’t'’ meant to be sedentary, but to do something every day. And you can't eat well just once in a while. So we’re here every single day. And that way we create a routine that becomes part of you life.

Re-Upping

By day 15, Horn, Van Kirk, and I were supermen. I hadn’t been sore for days (although getting out of bed every morning at five was killing me). Van Kirk had lost 18 pounds and could pump 60 push-ups at a time, as could Horn. I ran a 7-minute mile and managed 52 push-ups.

At six on the following Monday morning I reported to maintenance, which is what Avon calls his more-advanced program, for people who have survived the three weeks of torture. Boot camp, as it turned out, was child’s play. I found 25 men pawing the ground like a herd of bulls. We ran six blocks, stretched, ran two miles (one of them up an excruciating hill), then did various squats, lunges, and sprints for the rest of the hour-long session. Middle-aged professionals all, these recruits were in awesome shape. The guy next to me, Niven, had a broken foot. I couldn’t keep up with him.

Suddenly, toward the hour’s end, one guy confessed: He’d scarfed a hamburger and French fries over the weekend. I dropped to the ground ready to pump.