Since becoming a lady of leisure, I've made good on my promise to get healthy. I rejoined the gym straight away and have made it my mission to visit at least once every Monday through Friday, so I can have the weekend off to rejuvenate and be completely guilt-free. And you know, it's been working so far. I've said it a million times before, but I really am my own worst enemy; so even though it's early days this time around, I'm feeling pumped and I'm determined to beat this thing and lose the weight. I can do it!

All flowers and rainbows and feelings of general enthusiasm aside though, I really do wish it was as easy to lose it as it is to put it on. It helps to know that my constant struggle with putting on weight and battling to get it off again has a medical background (why thank you, crazy hormones and multiplying ovarian cysts) but it doesn't make it any easier to deal with. The fact of the matter is that while I may be doing all of the right things in order to slim down, my body will be fighting me all the way. Brilliant!

But I digress: I'm not letting this thing kick me in the shins and mess with my motivation. I'm not expecting instant results, and I refuse to let it throw me off the bandwagon. As long as I keep plugging away, I'll be content and I'll know that I've done everything I possibly can on this journey - and that's all I can ask of myself.

And let's face it, this is a big thing for me. I'm just not a gym bunny. I don't look forward to my visits and I generally don't really enjoy being there at all. Add my general feelings of insecurity and self consciousness as well as my usually being the tallest, heaviest, sweatiest AND reddest-faced in the room, and sometimes the mere thought of going is enough to make me dive under the covers and pray for the weekends. (Seriously, why does no-one else sweat? I don't get crazy body odour/sweat patches, but the second I work out? My face changes colour and my hairline is sopping wet. It's hideous. Makes me feel like a really hot lumberjack.)

Any who, all paranoia and worries aside, I'm doing okay. This time last year when I joined the gym originally, I weighed less than I do now; which is terrible and makes me feel incredibly frustrated - so the first thing I want to do is get back down to that goal. I decided to spice up my gym routine, and a part of that involved being a big girl and venturing upstairs into the studio to try out a class or two.

I found a new take on my old favourite of Aqua aerobics called Aqua Run - which is quite literally running in water. It sounds pretty simple and easy, but you try spending 45 minutes doing laps around a pool. It's all fun and games until you have to switch directions against the water resistance, let me tell you. Losing your balance and face planting in front of twenty other bouncing ladies & random good looking male swimmers doing laps in the lane next to you is optional. I've added this class to my weekly routine, much to the dismay of my calf muscles.

And guess what else have I discovered? The joy of Zumba! I went for the first time last week and I've never been more nervous about a class before; there were so many people (read: women) queuing up to join it. There is something incredibly liberating about being able to pretend you are an extra in a Dirty Dancing spin-off with nobody judging you. Of course, I'm saying this after being the girl at the back of the studio, who spent her hour watching everyone else while they're shaking and shimmying and letting out high pitched South American wails. (But not in a judgy kind of way; more of a 'Why the heck can't I move like that?' kind of way.) It's pretty obvious that the natural rhythm gene completely skipped me. I've been uncoordinated since birth.

It was fantastic. I was huffing and puffing and trying to keep up with everyone else, while twirling off in the wrong directions and sweating like a trucker. I don't think the smile came off my face the entire time; partly because it was fun and the instructor is this hilariously tiny little Brazilian lady who cracked me up, partly because the music was awesome, and partly because I kept catching glimpses of myself in the mirror and that sight was so bad, it was good. And if I didn't smile, I would have probably cried, and that would have been awkward for everyone. So, I kept on shimmying and cha-cha-cha-ing and hoping that a Patrick Swayze look-a-like would walk through the door at any moment and lift me up over his head, all the while pretending not to notice that I was sweaty and red faced and weighed more than him.

So that part didn't happen - but I did make it through all the way through the class without dying.

At the end of the class, the crazy instructor asked me what I thought of it, and I then proceeded to do something slightly mortifying. Let me just say that there was a fist pump involved - proceeded by me giving my   sweaty gym trainer a big and dramatic kiss on the cheek. I'd never even met this woman before, and um, it's not routine for me to get smoochy with a fitness trainer. I blame the adrenalin. I think she thought I was insane. But there you have it: two new additions to my gym routine - and hopefully they'll spice things up enough to keep me going back for more.