The Ranch Hudson Valley

'Are we joining the military?' Mr Smith is standing stricken before an email detailing a four-week-long, pre-arrival exercise programme ahead of our health retreat at The Ranch Hudson Valley. I am all smiles, replying with a family photo to display in our room at The Ranch— the team wants to make us feel right at home.

When we eventually arrive at the lakefront estate, an hour’s drive from NYC, we are in our hiking attire, complete with three-litre water bladders. The Ranch has a fixed three-meal menu and daily calorie count, but we may have overlooked the instructions during a light lunch prior to our arrival. We pull out the emergency shortbread biscuits concealed in my handbag to accompany the banana handed over at check-in. Shh! 

Later, clad in Lululemon, house smoothie in hand, I am sitting in the grand drawing room feeling totally out of sync. We should have been gathered here in the Roaring Twenties, Mr Smith all dapper and flirtatious in a corduroy suit, me in a slinky drop-waist number sipping cocktails in heels and dripping in diamonds. Back to reality — this JP Morgan mansion, reimagined by New York-based designer Steven Gambrel, with its chandelier-lit soaring ceilings, thrilling mix of contemporary classics and antique objects (for instance, a writing desk resembling vintage luggage), swanky spa and solarium, is our home for the next four days.

Things start to get real as soon as we gear up with the six other house guests at the mud room: sunblock applied, insect repellent sprayed, walkie-talkies strapped on and toes taped, we set off for our the first of our daily two-hour guided hikes — it can stretch to four hours, should we decide to continue. The trail straddles New Jersey and New York, and becomes intermittently challenging with steep inclines and rocks in our path. We replenish with electrolytes, hydrate and power through. Back at The Ranch, the staff present us with ice baths in silver bowls for our aching feet. A hot soak, drizzled with lavender oil, fresh rosemary, mint and eucalyptus salt, follows shortly.

When we enter our room overlooking Sheppard Pond, Mr Smith disappears between the layers of soft white linen on the bed. 'It’s like sleeping on clouds!' he exclaims. Slipping into bathrobes and Frette slippers, we head for a contrast-therapy class. It involves gasping for air, flinging zombie arms for help and lots of exhilaration when the dopamine releases during cycles of plunging into frigid cold water and stints in the sauna. After all that excitement, we are pampered at the spa with a massage, before joining a breathing, meditation and journalling class. 

Dinner with our group commences promptly at 7pm with a word of gratitude. The two-course, plant-based food is completely delicious. No crumbs. And alas, no dessert. My yearning for a sweet surprise means any sudden movement by the staff is interpreted as an incoming treat, which never materialises — until Mr Smith cheekily claims it is Julie’s birthday, earning us a fruit sorbet. By the fire, no-one wants to be the first to topple the waist-high Jenga tower we built together. We debate the local wildlife we'd prefer to run into during our hikes (black bears, lantern flies or brown snakes) and the types of tea on offer (ginger and turmeric, orange and cinnamon or bourbon and vanilla). The general vibe is triumph at getting through the day’s programme. Community is everything here.

The next day, we wake up to the sound of Tibetan chimes at 6am. Mr Smith groans, as I shoot out of bed. At the risk of enraging a significant subsection of night owls, I must disclose that I am all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when my jet-lagged body thinks it’s 6pm. Caffeine hours at The Ranch span a generous half-hour from 6am to 6.30am, which is motivation enough for Mr Smith to roll out of bed.

By sunrise, we join a stretching class to prepare our muscles for the hike ahead. Breakfast is always delicious: homemade granola, avocado toast or baked muffins with optional eggs. A motivational quote and a 'Bring it in!' by our guide precedes our daily hikes. Though my thoughts turn to hiking down the Champs-Élysées instead, our efforts are rewarded with a bear sighting. 

Those who hike for two hours can stagger back for an hour of power yoga or Pilates. There are no clocks on the walls, no locks on our doors. No-one to force us. Our time was ours to spend as we like, but the beauty of community is encouragement. A glue that made us to stick to the programme. Is there peer pressure? Absolutely. Any cheating would be way too obvious. We hold each other accountable — even when we are visibly uncomfortable. 

After our hike, we have lunch in the orangery: plant-based unless you requested otherwise. Snacks such as oatmeal cookies or quinoa balls for extra calories are offered between meals, too. By day two, my body is surprisingly conditioned to The Ranch's ways, and I am not crawling onto the floor to get into a child’s pose during yoga. 

Tonight’s pre-dinner soirée in the ballroom is a restorative yoga class and sound bath. I lay down and refuse to close my eyes — that would mean shutting out the Art Nouveau ceiling and the crimson sunset pouring over me through the bay windows. It's a little unreal and quite splendid. I glance at Mr Smith, who opens his eyes to flash me a cheeky smile. I bet he is wondering what Mr JP Morgan would make of us doing a downward-facing dog on their dance floor.

We rest and repeat for two more days of Ranch life. My body is in a caloric deficit, and we both lose a couple of kilos during the programme. We reach our goals, and the body-composition machine agrees. No GLP-1 shortcuts. No snake oil. It’s a privilege to be unplugged, to do this without make-up, alongside strangers. It’s the reset we needed.

We leave The Ranch motivated with healthy habits, recipe books and charcoal-infused sea-salt. We are new believers in food and movement as medicine, and community for healing and health – it's life’s greatest luxury.