When I agreed to do Biggest Loser I thought of many things. I wondered could I make the time commitment - given that I have two young children, a full time job and another book on the way. I did some super-mammy juggling and was able to arrange time to go to the classes.
I checked out what kit I would need - and bought suitable trainers, sportswear and a heavy duty sports bra to keep everything in place.
I cleared the cupboards of bad food and poured the remainder of the bottle of wine in the fridge down the sink and I agreed to write a column which I hoped would give me the extra impetus to give Biggest Loser all that I could.
What I didn’t, and couldn’t, prepare myself for was that this, as well as being a pretty full on physical journey, has become an emotional journey as well.
Biggest Loser promises to help you get fit and beat your food demons. But in order to do that, you have to face just how unfit (and in my case, overweight) you are and you have to face those food demons head on.
And I love food. I adore it. I, over the years, have come to associate food with comfort. I don’t just see it as the fuel my body needs to get on with things. I see it as a treat. A reward. A pick me up when I’ve had a bad day at work.
So I’m trying to teach my body to reach for alternatives. To call a friend, or drink a glass of water, or have a long shower, or go for a walk. But there are times when I want to lie on the floor in my kitchen and kick my legs like a toddler in full tantrum and scream that I want to eat the chocolate ice cream, or go out for a takeaway, or open the bottle of wine and drink it as if were water from the tap.
Emotionally I feel as if I am fighting a battle with the person I have been all my life - and while the new good me is winning at the moment I know I’m only ever moments away from a king size bar of Whole Nut.
It is a similar battle with weight loss and my new emerging shape. It is difficult to focus on how far I have come and how far I have to go. I might be lurred with the slightly slinkier thighs and a slightly tighter rear end I’ve developed but I’m aware Joe Soap on the street will still see me as an overweight, verging on middle-age woman.
Joe Soap won’t realise I weighed a lot more a few weeks ago or that, even two weeks ago, I couldn’t “plank” or “squat” without needing to have the cardiac ambulance on standby and that running the length of myself was out of the question.
It was at Circuits last week as part of Biggest Loser that I realised, while I was sweating and struggling to swing a kettle bell over my head, that I was actually enjoying the process.
I was enjoying feeling myself get fitter. I could run around the hall without wheezing as much as I had just a week before. Those endorphins all those skinny fit people were talking about must have kicked in and I left on a high.
Even when the personal trainers were shouting their commands in the manner of a drill sergeant I had a “bring it on” mentality about it.
I felt the same after walking round Ness Woods on Sunday finding it easier than I had just a few weeks ago.
But for every feeling of achievement there is a sense that there is more to do. I’m now three weeks into Biggest Loser. Already I know it is a life changer. All aspects of me - and how I see myself - are changing. And this week, the losses on the scales continued.