The heat is on as James Cracknell submits his Olympic gold medal-winning body to a challenging class of Bikram yoga.

Gyms tend to fall into two categories: those that allow sweat and those that don't. The former are mostly occupied by, and smell of, men. They have black rubber floor mats with weights strewn everywhere; perhaps a radio but not a sniff of a water cooler or a fruit basket.

The second kind of gyms are much more pleasant: fluffy white towels, headphones, Sky TV and guidelines about how long you should occupy a piece of equipment.

This is why the pictures in the Bikram yoga flier made me chant "Does not compute! Does not compute!" like the robot from Lost In Space. Everyone looked serene with their towels and huge bottles of water. There wasn't a weight in sight and yet everyone was sweating buckets.

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The Conservatives have a sporting solution
to Britain's ticking health time bomb,
says James Cracknell.

The problem with sticking your head above the parapet is that somebody is always ready to knock it off. But healthy British cynicism makes our nation great, whether it's the campaign to get Rage Against the Machine as the Christmas number one ahead of The X-Factor, or pelting the fasting David Blaine's Perspex box with hamburgers.

If there is a repeat of that incident in Exeter, I'll be dodging eggs rather than burgers today as I help David Cameron launch the Conservatives' School Olympics policy. I finished school in 1990 during the ridiculous policy of non-competitive sport. Thankfully, my school opted out of that trend, but a friend training for the Great Britain under-18 rowing team wasn't allowed to use any of his school's facilities. Luckily, with his motivation (and his parents getting a set of weights to keep in his garage) he won a World Championship medal. But, for every one of him, countless others were lost to sport, and crucially, got out of the habit of physical activity.

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What could be more healthy or entertaining than a family treasure hunt, on bicycles, on a winter's day? James Cracknell tries geocaching – an absorbing mix of Harry Potter, orienteering and lucky dip.

When it comes to walking I'm afraid I side with Edward Abbey, the late American author, who said: "Walking takes longer than any other known form of locomotion except crawling.
" I reason that running saves time and gives a better workout. (Admittedly, Abbey undermines my argument by going on to say: "Life is already too short to waste on speed.")

So when a weekend walk is suggested, my reaction tends to be about as enthusiastic as when someone gets the karaoke machine out (in both instances, it is usually my wife). But that lack of enthusiasm is no more (for walking, at least). For now I have discovered geocaching.

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Extreme triathlete Chrissie Wellington may try something different fr the London 2012 Games

"Oooo, off to see your girlfriend!" cooed my wife when I told her I was going to interview Chrissie Wellington.

Wellington's domination of Ironman – an extreme form of triathlon – from her first race 2½ years ago, alongside a natural bias towards endurance sport, means I'm a very big fan. I'd planned to use this piece to bang the drum for her achievements after winning the World Championships in Kona, Hawaii, for the third straight year.

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Olympic athlete James Cracknell anticipates
the thrill of a race around New York.

A six hour, three thousand mile flight to run 26 miles seems pointless, excessive and full of logistical headaches. But, strangely, it's easier to persuade your partner to come and cheer you on in New York than take a tube journey to the finish of the London Marathon.

New York's race isn't just another marathon, it's the daddy of them all. This is the city marathon against which all others are judged. It is the largest in the world (40,000 runners) and the oldest (40 next year). Its legendary atmosphere is generated by two million spectators and the simple fact it's in New York, New York.

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Formula One racing driver and our new road tester Mark Webber tries three cheap, frugal and very slow new cars. He's more used to 700bhp than 70bhp, so how does he rate them?

The scrappage scheme has been extended and Britain's showrooms are full of great, cheap superminis for sale. Always at your service to provide the ultimate consumer guide to which car to buy, Telegraph Motoring brings you a group road test featuring a trio of budget, fuel-efficient small cars.

To guide you in your purchase, we selected the most appropriate test driver for the job:
Red Bull Formula One racer, Mark Webber. A man used to 700bhp, 0-60mph in less than three seconds and room to stretch his 6ft frame. Perfect.

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Click any image to play clip (all clips courtesy of The Daily Telegraph)

Rebecca Romero had tears of joy as her former crew-mates cried in frustration.

The Olympics have just shown, through a weekend of fantastic performances, amazing stories and heartache what sets them apart from other sporting events.
Michael Phelps is the face of these Games. What he has accomplished is remarkable, exemplifying the attributes that make people tune in and watch sports they haven’t before — or not since Athens — desire, self-belief and willpower.

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I have no doubt that Michael Phelps is the greatest ever swimmer; Ian Thorpe, who previously laid claim to that title, said that winning eight gold medals wasn't possible.

Of course that may have been wishful thinking to avoid his stock falling further. He famously failed in an attempt to win seven Commonwealth golds and the standard in Manchester wasn't quite the same as it is here in Beijing.

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James Cracknell wanted to test himself against the sea. Hawaii was the obvious place, with waves to humble even an
Olympic oarsman.

A surfer catches a wave as it breaks. He speeds along the sheer face as it tips and barrels over his head. I know he's bound to be trapped inside - beaten by the ocean. Then he's spat out, still standing, followed by a plume of water as the wave crashes behind him. I had seen such skill countless times before on video, but the reality, on Banzai Pipeline Beach in Hawaii, was still breathtaking.

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James Cracknell, who recently spent 49 days in a rowing boat racing across the Atlantic, enjoys a gentler ride by the Pacific, on California's Highway 1.

How hard could it be to navigate the 700 miles from San Francisco to San Diego? As long as I kept the Pacific Ocean on my right I would get there in the end. Or so I thought, until I drove from the airport into a seven-lane wave of rush-hour traffic surging towards San Francisco. Without a decent map, and with only the hotel's address, I had little time to enjoy the skyline. I was too busy learning that lane-swapping is frowned upon (either that or they can spot a hire car at 100 paces) and that downtown does, in fact, mean the town centre.

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New Zealand is the HQ of adventure holidays. James Cracknell takes on its toughest race, the 152-mile Coast to Coast.

By the time my kayak capsized and threw me into the icy river, I was already half exhausted. That morning I had cycled 44 miles and run just four miles short of a marathon, scaling a pass the altitude of Snowdon along the way.

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