The challenge has been laid down and I have taken it up with both hands. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy but, dammit, I am going to finish it.

Well, that is what I am supposed to think, it’s just so goddamn hard. I am talking about my Extreme DIVA Makeover that I started about four weeks ago.

It will culminate with me looking a shadow of my former self, sashaying into this year’s DIVAs at Star City collecting an armful of awards and gliding out. (It doesn’t hurt to dream does it?)

I started full of enthusiasm and energy, tackling the first couple of weeks with gusto, eating nothing but grass and thistles, working out with a top trainer three days a week but going to the gym every day, slogging it out on the bloody treadmill.

I have to reach my goal weight in just three months, which I was told was possible but would be hard work. To my delight the kilos started to drop, pants started to feel looser and now I am able to squeeze into things that were bought years ago as an incentive.

My start weight was 93kg (tubbie-tubbie/ two by four/ can’t get through the kitchen door/ had to use a stick).

Now that I have reached 86kg (it is actually 86.1 but I will round down) it seems I have hit a wall. That means nothing off for the last week, though I have worked my box off, sweating a small child’s weight in water every day.

I have been told this is normal, but I want more.

And when, I ask you, is this fucking adrenalin supposed to kick in and make the gym fun? That is all I am hearing from many boys: Oh, are you loving it? I love it, I really enjoy going to the gym.

I am not sure what machine they are doing their reps on (see, I’m starting to use the lingo) or if there is a caf?here that I don’t know about where they go up and have coffee. But I end up looking like I have been put in one of those big plastic balls and rolled down a hill.

And usually straight after that, I need a little bit of a lie-down or rest time; if not, I am shagged for the whole day.

Hoping I wasn’t normal, I quizzed my trainer: is it normal to be this buggered (not in a good way) and when does the fun start?

I was quickly told that there is no fun, and pain is your friend, but not to worry because I was very normal and it was to be expected that I would be tired. Thirty-one years of no exercise is going to take its toll.

So for all those who are thinking of getting fit for summer, now is the time to start. If I can do it, anyone can. And make sure you come and say hello if you see me mincing my arse off on the treadmill.

© Star Observer 2019 | For the latest in lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and intersex (LGBTI) news in Australia, be sure to visit starobserver.com.au daily. You can also read our latest magazines or Join us on our Facebook page and Twitter feed.