HERE I go. It’s treadmill time – 7am.
It can seem far too much like hard work. That’s just the bending over to put my towel down as this expensive piece of kit has nowhere to put it.
The gym is quite quiet at this time in the morning. I lower my head to avert the gaze of the body builders and lycra-clad, super-fit, women who have also hauled their arses (or what there is of them) here as I step on. OK Go, I aint.
Now what speed do I want to start with?
This one must be in miles per hour. Thing is, the last (a while back!) was in kilometres. I feel giddy just thinking about it – having whizzed off the end before I had time to say: “Whoah.”
Aspiring to look and feel like Denise Lewis, wee Jimmy Krankie, with added girth of course, springs to mind instead.
This is relentlessly boring, though isn't it? Such tedium should be cured by watching one of the eight TVs in front or me, or choosing a radio station pumped through my headphones. Actually, I just need to find my headphones or shell out more money for a new pair.
I’m not that bothered about catching up with the Botoxed weather lady or listening to the clinkety-clank of the latest dirge from Hannah Montana.
Still, that could drown out the clankety-clink of my locker key pinned to my extra large T-shirt.
What’s this? Now it wants to display my weight, height and age. What’s a little while lie among friends?
Why can’t it have one of those signs that say: “Stand back, privacy is paramount.” I’m sure I’ve seen them at cash points – or perhaps Weight Watchers – why not here?
Having established that I am 22, 5ft 6 and eight stone four, I select one of the "pre-programmed" options. These will helpfully show the hills I have yet to climb and the distance left to walk or jog. (Did someone say jog?)
Even the “fantasy” me would get bored of that. But my time is livened up by another pratfall as my attention wanders to whether Lorraine Kelly will be on in a minute.
The running deck isn’t actually always long or wide enough for me to use my "natural" stride. As my energy flags, I tend to wobble more than usual. Bouncing off the sides is no fun and now people really are staring.
Going backwards up a "steep" setting as I have been advised to do, seems almost impossible. There should be a "are you sure?" button to stop the likes of me pushing themselves harder and getting stared at more than I should.
It must be doing me some good, though, right? I’d love to say I knew. The calories burned and heart rate display is on the blink again.
Why don’t I try pounding a pavement or running up and down stairs at home instead? Where’s the fun in that? At least here I’m surrounded by other poor deluded, wobbly souls.
IT always happens - back off holiday, I'm raring to go. The difference is that this time, just two days in, I'm already making it happen. Now I just need to stick at it.
I need to have small goals and want to aim for half a stone at a time. I know it can be counter-productive to set a time limit on that and to work towards a target, but my brother collapsing and being treated for diabetes is all the warning sign I need, thanks very much. That's why I'm telling myself it's reasonable to expect to lose 7lbs by the end of August - through healthy eating and exercise.
This morning, I did a whole 30 minutes in the gym - treadmill and cross trainer, I got my heart rate up to 146 and down again after that quite quickly. The machinery told me I'd burned around 100 calories on the cross trainer and I have no clue how many I burned on the treadmill.
I was thinking that six stone was a lot to shift, and then I realised it's seven. Oh well. After a year I should see a real difference. But these first weeks are key - yes it's just two days in but I am feeling happy and motivated. I'm not feeling particularly hungry and am not beating myself up for past failures.
The turning point for me was talking to the nutritionist.
Her wise words have really hit home. My mum thinks they were nonsense. She told me so last week - about 10 minutes before offering me a chocolate bar.
I STARTED today in tears. Before I'd even got up, I was weeping and wailing about what a 'failure' I am because my size 18 trousers are so bloody tight. Not that I wear them in bed of course.
Neil said all the right things, bless him. First he assured me that he loved me, that the kids loved me and that I was still me and I shouldn't get so upset.
Then as I continued to snivel, he told me to relax and calm down. Which was fair enough. So I got up and cooked some bacon. In fact I also cooked some Sainsbury's Taste the Difference sausages - and bloody lovely they were too.
I was upset because my mum had been very 'short' with me on the phone the night before. It may be ridiculous to some but when my mum, or Neil's mum, for that matter, has a go at me about losing weight, it triggers a great amount of stress from somewhere deep within.
Before that, I was doing fine. I even had my picture taken this week. I'd been dreading it, as I don't let a camera anywhere near me usually. I did my normal joking around with the local newspaper reporter who was fixing it up - could they take it from the back? Could they take one of someone else and pretend it was me? Did they have an airbrush? Etc , etc. I could tell he thought 'what the f*ck is this woman on?' but I had to try and have a laugh with him. That's what I do.
When the photographer arrived, he was a real gent - he'd been doing the job 35 years and we 'clicked' over tales about 'the old days' on regional papers and mutual friends. Each time I confided I felt self-conscious, he told me to stop putting myself down. He reckoned (or so he said) I had lovely eyes and would be great fun to go out for a drink with. When he took the picture, he even said: "That's beautiful."
I sighed inside and thought that he was talking bollocks, but when he showed me the image stored on his digital camera, I actually smiled. "Oh that's lovely," I said and my colleagues nearly fainted.
So I was on a bit of a 'high' after that. The nutritionist I went to - and will go back to - had said something similar - that I was obviously a lovely person, with lots to do, so why was I so hard on myself?
I felt like this has really started to sink in. I have relaxed around food, I'm trying my best not to beat myself up about it, to break the diet-binge-hate myself cycle.
And then my mum rang.
I was trying to tell her about something my daughters had been up to.
"Have you lost any weight?" she interrupted brusquely.
"I don't know, I haven't been on the scales," I told her.
"Well are you still over eating?" she pretty much barked.
"No," I said through gritted teeth but thought something just tells me I might tonight.
I know it's not a particularly cruel exchange. No insults were thrown, no accusations of 'failure' or value judgements about being a fattie were made. But do you know what? I've missed out something massive (no pun intended, yeah right) from this post - a true 'elephant in the room' if ever there was one.
My brother has been diagnosed with diabetes. I'm hoping to go and see him next week, to have a chat, give him a hug and help him start to find the understanding about his weight that I'm also working towards. I'm worried sick for him and frankly terrified that I'm equally in danger of this disease. And obviously, my mum, who also loves me very much, is too.
* FOOD is not 'good' or 'bad'.
* I am not 'bad' for getting fat. The way I eat is not 'disgusting'.
* I am not a failure for putting on weight after leaving a slimming club.
* I do not lack 'willpower'
* I should stop beating myself up about getting fat
* The way I eat, when I eat and how much I eat, is learned behaviour.
* I CAN EAT WHAT I WANT, WHEN I WANT (Yes I am shouting.)
* Hearing and starting to grasp these things, at the age of 40, makes me cry.
THANKS again to everyone who responded so fully, thoughtfully and sensitively to my post about "chaotic eaters."
I've been giving the reasons why I eat too much crap a lot of thought and have come to the earth shattering conclusion that in order to lose weight, first I need to lose some of the stress from my life.
But please, anyone, if you are labouring under the misapprehension that I am totally unhappy with my life, that I am a wailing mess thinking all that matters *is* my weight, please think again.
I know it's hardly the done thing, but I would like to point out that apart from my weight, I am very happy.
Sure, like everyone, I have had my 'down' moments - but am doing fine, thanks.
Nor do I allow my weight to hinder my confidence from day to day. It's not like I'm about to hit the local baths in a size 22 bikini or enter Page Three Idol (Oh my God, sorry if that's not a great mental image) but I can still do everything I need to - that's for me and those I love around me.
I suppose that's why heartless shit like this does make me cry a little, on the inside at least.
I may be "fat and 40" but I'm also loved up and 40 and I'm also a mum of two and busy at work - and yes I love that. But I don't love the stress that comes with this busy lifestyle and that's what I need to sort out, urgently.
I have been treated for depression in the past and I am convinced that actually yes, there was a connection with why I put so much weight on.
Now I am tipping the scales at six (count 'em) stone overweight, I know that the only person who can crack this massive problem, is me.
Others can help and support me, but it's only me who shovels food down my throat and sits on my arse in front of the telly or a computer when I could be out in the fresh air, walking or down the gym, or swimming. And do you know what, I'm bloody well capable of it too. Cheesy it might be, but I look at that video of Jodie Prenger and I think 'let me at it!"
It's not a "diet" I need, but a new attitude and approach to eating - I know that I can still eat plenty, but it does need to be healthy stuff. Not, "good", not "bad" just healthy.
I'd also like to take time to exercise more.
But one of the most important things for me is to let go of an "all or nothing" attitude - feeling I have "failed" if I don't lose five pounds in a week, or whatever. So Jodie lost eight stone in six months, good on her - but to expect myself to do the same, could be a bit disastrous.
An appointment with a nutritionist last week was a non-starter. I never got there. Blame it on my satnav, blame it on the traffic. Just please gloss over the fact that I had half a bag of chips to help me calm down afterwards. Now, what was that I was saying about stress making me eat?
IT never fails..."She never went away!" I shout.
What could it be that makes me raise my voice, me being such a peace loving soul?
Why, that bloody WeightWatchers* advert of course.
"The woman I married is back?" Well perhaps if you'd treated her better in the first place, she wouldn't have sought solace in the biscuit barrel.
* And yes it is now ten years since I lost four stone with WeightWatchers. It has all gone back on, plus another two for good measure.