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.

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