"Here's what happened when I worked out with Madonna’s personal trainer."

Breaking news: I know why Madonna ran three hours late to her Melbourne concert.

She wasn’t engaging in any untoward behaviour. She’s not an alcoholic, and she’s not on the verge of a breakdown. It wasn’t sex, it wasn’t drugs, and it wasn’t rock’n’roll.

She was just having a nap.

Because she’s really goddamn tired.

How do I know, you ask? Well, I did a workout with her personal trainer, and it was the single most exhausting thing that has ever happened to me.

 I’ll admit, I had low hopes going in. The thing is, Madonna and I aren’t really on the same page when it comes to fitness.

And by that, I mean that Madonna is often photographed for the fitness pages of magazines, and I sometimes eat cake and drop crumbs onto the pages of those magazines.

Because Madonna has such an iconic body, it’s safe to assume her workouts are outrageously difficult.

But it turns out that there’s a difference between thinking about Madonna working out, which is quite fun while you’re eating cake, and actually doing Madonna’s workout, which does not mix well with a full stomach of cake.

A lesson I learned the hard way by vomiting twice inside my mouth during the session.

Madonna’s workout, I learned on arrival, is comprised of dance-y, aerobic-y, cardio type things (not the technical term).

It is done at full volume to songs like Kelis’ Milkshake. Everyone at the session was super hyped up and the instructors, the lovely Craig Smith and Maryln Oritz, encouraged everyone to scream and whoop at regular intervals.


I know, I know. It sounds really great and you want to do it right now.

The thing is, though, Madonna’s workout is actually impossible. It’s simply got too much exercise in it. I reached peak exhaustion about four minutes in to the hour-long session.

From that point onwards, I merely subsisted in a sort of stumbling twilight zone.

Blinded by exhaustion, terrified my legs would simply give way, convinced I was about to collapse onto the floor into nothing but a puddle of sweat and the purple Lorna Jane sports bra I purchased for the occasion. Just so people would think exercise was something I had done before.

Me after the workout, verging on deceased. 

In the interests of full disclosure, I should tell you that dancing is not my thing. Part of the session involved learning a dance that Madonna does during her Rebel Heart concert. THE VERY SAME DANCE! Visions of being invited onstage at Madonna’s next concert to break it down in a dance solo in front of thousands of screaming fans flashed before my eyes.

She'd be so impressed she'd invite me into her dressing room afterwards! She'd ask me if I could sing and I'd act all bashful before belting out the most glorious rendition of Like A Virgin known to man! I'd join her on tour and maybe meet Taylor Swift one day!

This was the first day of the rest of my life!

Unfortunately, I did not realise we were learning a dance until about halfway through, because I cannot identify different dance moves.

I thought we were moving our legs and arms in many diverse ways, when in fact, all the other participants were moving their legs and arms in the same way over and over (this, I have been told, is called a “routine”).


This confusion should be amply clear from the video above, in which I demonstrate how to not learn choreography regardless of how many times it is repeated.

Needles to say, I will not be joining Madonna on stage at her next concert, and I will never meet Taylor Swift.

It's fine. Seriously. I'm fine.

As my fellow classmates screamed in what I assume was pain and terror but could have been exhilaration, I lay on my back and had a small-to-medium sized heart attack.

On reflection, I should have been tipped off by the name of the workout, which is "Addicted To Sweat".

A week ago, I would have described myself as "Indifferent To Sweat", but after this eye-opening experience, I'll go with "Firmly Opposed To Sweat".

Zoe: Firmly Opposed To Sweat. 

After I awoke from my coma, I was able to confirm with Craig and Maryln that this workout is something Madonna actually does, and that she sometimes does this workout before she goes on stage, meaning she effectively does it twice in a row.

Which is how I am able to exclusively reveal this tantalising bit of gossip:

Madonna only pulled down that teenage girl’s top because she was so tired she lost control of her arms.

If you need proof, ask the woman I spilt my strawberry milkshake on after I mustered the energy to leave the gym.

Are you a fitness superhero with endless energy, or even just a person with normal levels of fitness? You can probably do Madonna's workout at Hard Candy Fitness and not die. Check out Hard Candy Fitness here.