Ice remedy, reducing out the greens and a ‘chewing coach’: How I misplaced 5 kilos in 7 days on the ‘midlife MOT’ Austrian retreat that Sachin Tendulkar, Naomi Campbell and Elizabeth Hurley all swear by, reveals RICHARD GIBSON

As someone who routinely donned disguises to avoid off-the-scale adulation, it’s no wonder the solitude of a week’s reset at the Vivamayr clinic appeals to Sachin Tendulkar.

When you are the most famous sportsman India has produced, and still arguably the most well-known living Indian, me time is on ration, but it was here in the tranquil southern Austrian retreat that a player who rewrote Test cricket history by reaching 50 centuries was able to relax his mind and rejuvenate his body earlier this year.

Achieving such a balanced state takes discipline, though, the kind Tendulkar made his trademark during an incredible 664-match international career.

Mayr therapy constitutes one of the most challenging detox programmes known, but also one of the most rewarding, according to the A-list celebrities who flock to the alpine lodge — where the top suites cost £1,000 a night — nestled on the banks of the Worthersee lake, 10 miles from Klagenfurt, a half-hour’s drive from the Slovenian border.

Liz Hurley, Naomi Campbell, Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber, Rita Ora and Tracey Emin have all championed the health benefits of a residence. It was here that Australian actress Rebel Wilson shed her first pounds in a dramatic 36kg weight loss. Malaika Mihambo, the German Olympic and world long jump champion, attributes post-competition regeneration to subscribing to its programme.

My own motivation was to follow in Tendulkar’s footsteps, having recently brought up a half-century of my own. To get a reality check on how my 50-year-old self was really doing. Call it a mid-life MOT.

It was a red-eye start to my journey to the municipality of Maria Worth, and one not boosted by an early morning coffee rush. If I am in, I am all in and on signing up to the pursuit of wellness, I committed to seven days of pre-tox, including no caffeine or alcohol.

So there was no Costa call when I arrived at Manchester Airport at 6am. Other items on the banned list surprised me, namely raw fruit and vegetables. Cold turkey on that front is into its third week. At my final doctor’s consultation, I was advised to ween myself back onto them around December 23. What kind of man hails a caesar salad at Christmas, you may ask? Well, this kind.

Cutting out the greens may seem odd, but at the heart of modern Mayr therapy is a healthy digestive system.

Dr Franz Xaver Mayr, the 20th-century Austrian physician whose concepts form its basis, argued that the gut is the root of human well-being, the source of the body’s energy and strength, so removing foods high in fibre that are hard to break down, such as raw produce and fruit juices, helps cleanse the engine.

Aligned to this is a reduction in the volume you consume and when you consume it. Breakfast, lunch and dinner are regimented in the build-up and then taken to another level when meals begin in the medical centre’s restaurant.

Staff are careful not to call Vivamayr a hotel, for very good reason. Naturally it does not house a bar, but there is a happy hour between noon and 1pm four days in when you are handed a menu with actual meal choices. Until then, it is a diet of soups and oils, such as truffle or linseed, accompanied by a chewing trainer (bread, to you and me).

Like most blokes, I have always devoured food like a snake, taking a couple of token chomps of whatever is in my mouth before swallowing. I was soon to find it was the biggest detriment to my health. As Dr Adriana Fink said after discharging me with the news that I had lost 2.3kg and 4cm off my abdomen between Monday and Friday lunchtimes, if we didn’t need teeth we would not have been given them.

In between, I had used them extensively, spending more time chewing across the week — a count of 40 is the bare minimum for every mouthful — than running, lifting or jumping. It is fair to say the one lifestyle switch that will stick with me is not what I eat, but how I eat it.

Suddenly, portions half the size I was accustomed to were taking up to five times longer to get through, with eye-opening results. Breakfast on the second day — I chose a medallion of local fish and vegan feta cheese as my two supplements — defeated me. I got up and walked out, leaving half a soya bread roll behind.

A drastic reduction in volume of food and therefore calories — the evening meal is the smallest of the day — has been known to send guests into shock mode, but the headaches and shakes I had been warned about did not materialise. Instead, I was developing a Ready Brek glow, intensified by the exhaustive list of physical challenges and stimulating treatments.

It was at my first consultation, during functional myodiagnostics — or muscle testing — that the doctor picked up on a major issue. My small intestine was a labyrinthine mess of undigested carbohydrates and gas developed as a by-product, which meant every prod of the stomach set off a new section of my gastric orchestra. The bloated tummy was masking the positive aspects of my physique shown up by a cardio scan that morning — my muscle mass was extremely good for my age and I carried no excess fat.

Psychologically, knowing the physical readings were good was a boost, but every time I was built up by one clinician, another was lurking round the corner ready to knock me back down.

At my first daily massage, I was told my ankles were too stiff for the amount of exercise I do and that I needed to run more. The osteopath was highly critical of my chest and shoulder muscle, suggesting I was showing the ‘gorilla’ hallmarks of someone who spends an hour lifting weights and walks out of the gym, neglecting the stretching that muscles require in between sessions. Guilty, your honour.

But I was feeling more energised on this reduced-calorie, alkaline diet and determined to complete every challenge thrown my way, including ice bathing — swimming in the lake when the outside temperature dropped below zero.

This is not something I would normally be queuing up for, and in some ways the half hour of ‘fire’ breathing exercises to prepare the body for the shock made me more apprehensive. Yet, walking down the wooden jetty inhaling deeply and choreographing every rapid exhalation with a thunder clap above my head, I knew I was ready.

Without breaking stride, I followed instructor Mauricio straight down the steps into the water. Waist deep, the cold hits you. But once committed to something there is no turning back for me and after slowing down my breathing to compose myself, I took the plunge, swimming for a couple of strokes before resurfacing. 

It was so invigorating and the tingling sensation beneath the skin lasted hours. The swim’s immediate effects were stark too — being able to kick higher, punch more powerfully and generally feel lighter in the warm-down exercises that followed in the warmth of the yoga cabin blew my mind. 

Ice therapy is known to improve circulation, reduce swelling and aid muscle recovery, but it also provided a mental high.

The next day’s cryotherapy challenge featured much less of a build-up, but still some getting the head round. In swim shorts, woolly hat, gloves and socks, I was advised to employ distraction tactics from the moment I entered the first of two chambers and not to look at the countdown clock. 

Thirty seconds in the first, at minus 30º C, prepares you for the second, which dips to an excruciating minus 110.

I had no idea why, but from the moment the first door shut, I began singing the Housemartins’ version of Caravan of Love and this Paul Heaton wannabe did not stop crooning — aside from a brief interlude midway through the three minutes in the second chamber when, failing to heed the warning about the digital display, I became conscious of the time remaining.

For reasons unknown, it was at this point that I made a woeful attempt at replicating Usain Bolt’s famous lightning pose. The Vivamayr environment, however, is all about succeeding, not failing, and I was determined to push myself to the limits, even when confronted with Galileo, a machine of rapidly shifting force plates that makes workouts 60 per cent more effective on the body than routine ones, due to the duress muscles are under.

By the end of the week, the vibration frequency for sets of squats, planks and push-ups had gone up from 12 to 18hz and I was sweating profusely, which I was told should be the end result for every workout you undertake.

At each of the half dozen appointments that form your day, enthusiastic practitioners encourage you to incorporate their advice in readiness for your home life. But if emulating Sachin on a temporary basis was doable, the practicalities of introducing this TLC on steroids back in Yorkshire is another thing altogether.

Yes, pulling oil through my teeth first thing in the morning to detoxify my mouth was quirky and fun, but who has five to 10 minutes spare at that time of day when you have three kids, a dog and the need to be in Nottingham or Manchester for a 9.30am press conference?

Yes, I checked out with a deflated belly, nourished soul and stronger tendons, ligaments and joints due to the fascia training, feeling more co-ordinated and flexible courtesy of personalised, hour-long Qigong and Shiatsu sessions, with improved breathing and techniques to defeat snoring following work with a voice coach, and pretty zen following a raft of yoga and pilates classes. I was relaxed enough to fall asleep during hydrotherapy and mud pack treatments.

But just as the unmasked little master Tendulkar would have found, this was an escape from reality, not the start of a whole new one.