Go on vacation. Come back ripped.
That’s the enticing pitch—to be an all-expenses-paid guinea pig for a new kind of luxe fitness hotel, Dubai’s SIRO One Za’abeel. What better way to celebrate the big 5-0 than by calling in some reinforcements for my midlife battle with the bulge? I book it, dreaming of my shiny new six-pack and feeling fitter already.
Only as I board my flight to Dubai do I wonder: What exactly have I signed up for? Kerzner International Resorts’ fresh-out-of-the-box concept promises an experience “engineered to power your performance.” Is that code for “fat camp in the desert”? Have I enrolled to be the plaything of some sadistic ex–Army drill sergeant? Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
In SIRO One Za’abeel’s unorthodox lobby, an athletic meeter-and-greeter hands me an espresso, activating my parasympathetic nervous system to calm me down.
It becomes clear where I’ve landed: a boot camp for modern-day Masters of the Universe. The urban resort boasts six floors of state-of-the-art fitness and recovery “laboratories,” spacious “performance-optimized” rooms with en suite fitness areas, and access to 11 top-notch restaurants, each offering mesmerizing views of Dubai’s vertiginous skyline.
If you believe the 40-foot real-estate-company billboards at the airport of this science-fictional city, Dubai is the “future of the future.” And indeed, the tiny, oil-rich nation of the United Arab Emirates—a federation of sheikhdoms with more than $1.5 trillion in its various sovereign wealth funds—seems to have a finger in every global enterprise, from artificial intelligence to sports. Dubai, with its glistening skyscrapers, has become a gilded playground for Russian oligarchs, European aristocrats, American tech gurus, Indian tycoons, and Chinese asset managers.
Kerzner—owned by the Investment Corp. of Dubai—runs an empire of opulent hotels, including the 2,400-room Atlantis complex on Dubai’s artificial archipelago, the Palm—the haunt of countless influencers, as well as A-listers such as Beyoncé and J.Lo.
SIRO deviates somewhat from that tried-and-tested hedonic path: There are no endless buffets, waterslides, or frolics with captive dolphins here. With 229 rooms ranging from $435 to $1,765 for suites that come with punching bags and treadmills, and packages promising to “biohack your well-being with precision,” the resort instead offers a launchpad for the world’s corporate overlords—a place to lift weights alongside professional soccer players and prep for Paleo-powered pitches to the prince.
Our global obsession with getting and staying in shape is expected to power massive growth in wellness-focused travel. A March report from the Global Wellness Institute estimates that the global wellness-tourism market has grown 50% faster than the overall tourism industry in recent years. That’s why hoteliers are testing concepts that combine the accoutrements of spas, health clubs, and ultra-high-end hotels—including the luxe Equinox Hotel in New York.
At SIRO, I sip an immunity-boosting shot as I go over my eating habits with Heeral Shivnani, SIRO Hotels’ in-house nutritionist. She benchmarks my weight and my fat-to-muscle ratio before issuing an eating plan for the next three days.
The resort’s formula relies upon the yin and yang of hard workouts balanced with luxe recovery and dining. The fitness lab offers cycling, CrossFit, and weight training. A spiral staircase sweeps you elegantly up to the hotel’s recovery lab, with an immaculate yoga studio, ice-plunge baths, a cryotherapy chamber, a sauna, a Pilates area, and zen zones to escape your phone.
Ruling over these labs are SIRO’s master trainers, including my personal trainer, the South African Runet Van Heerden, who is charged with supersizing me in the next 48 hours. My jet lag buys me something of a pass in my first workout: A low-key weights session clears away some of the cobwebs from the flight. As Runet puts me through my paces, I look around and try to establish the pecking order. I’m happy to see that there’s one guy who’s plainly in worse shape than I am—a corporate executive type who probably spends more time with spreadsheets and pitch decks than kettlebells.
It becomes clear where I’ve landed: a boot camp for modern-day masters of the universe.
But before my smugness has a chance to settle in, I’m told that the testing group includes soccer legend and SIRO brand ambassador Zlatan Ibrahimovic (a hero of mine, and the model for the character Zava on Apple TV’s Ted Lasso). Zlatan’s former club, AC Milan (which he now advises), helped shape a training and recovery protocol for SIRO, modeled on the team’s.
I keep an eye out for Zlatan as I head to the recovery lab where Mark, my masseur, irons the contours of an airplane seat out of my back. He then ups the detox stakes with an ultraviolet treatment, before sending me into a meditative trance with a vibroacoustic therapy session. Feeling rejuvenated, I head to my suite to change into something casual for a Thai dinner.
In the elevator, I bump into the ridiculously handsome British travel entrepreneur Jeremy Jauncey, who’s here with his wife, Pia Wurtzbach, a former Miss Universe. Mr. Universe and I chat about his preparations for Hyrox, the World Series of fitness training. Bronzed, ripped, and perfectly groomed—Instagram was invented for this man.
“Have you tried the compression therapy?” he asks me. “It’s amazing.”
Jauncey’s fat-free form leaves me doubting dinner, but the friendly waitress refuses to follow Heeral’s dietary instructions, instead plying me with turmeric-spiced cauliflower and caramel-crusted venison.
Day two follows a similar cycle of workout, well-being, and culinary indulgence. I wonder, in my fugue state: Have I enrolled myself in some kind of experiment in which I’m stuffed with food, then stuck on a treadmill to marble my meat like a side of human Wagyu?
After an emotional breath-work session with Slovenian yogi Petra Nemethova, I finally catch a glimpse of a tall, ponytailed Swede in a Gucci tracksuit. Zlatan! I dash out to slide between him and his car and interview the notoriously taciturn football legend. “SIRO’s great,” he tells me. “Dubai’s great.” Zlatan’s great, he does not say. But it’s true, and we both know it.
Feeling like Ted Lasso after signing Zava for Richmond AFC, I’m pumped. My second session with Runet is a HIIT bruiser, but I power through and then fire up my mitochondria with five minutes of subzero temperatures in SIRO’s cryotherapy chamber.
By day three, I can feel the endorphins taking over. I put the pedal to the metal with some AC Milan–designed core conditioning. Lunch is an actual Wagyu steak, and I even sneak in an extra boxing session in my suite.
I don’t have that six-pack after just three days, but I’m feeling fantastic. I raid the healthiest minibar in the world for kombucha, trail mix, and SIRO’s addictive cacao-coconut protein balls for the flight, and pop in on Heeral to say thank-you and goodbye.
She puts me on her high-tech scales to see how I’ve fared in this wicked experiment: Even after gorging for four days, I’ve lost fat and gained muscle.
“See?” she says. “This is the place to be. No pain, all gain.”
This article appeared in the June/July 2024 issue of Fortune with the headline “Blurring the lines of fitness and luxury amid the sci-fi glitz of Dubai.”
