“Right, buckle up, it’s time to get this body back into some sorta shape.” I’ve said that to myself for probably the hundredth time in the past year.

I used to be quite fit. I’m not going to say I was anything special, but I could tackle a mountain with some pretty heavy gear strapped to my back. Back then I could deadlift more than my own bodyweight without thinking twice. These days I struggle to lift a shopping bag without an audible groan escaping, you know the kind that makes strangers in the car park genuinely concerned for my wellbeing. How far away am I from going from someone who fell to someone who had a fall? Now? I think I run out of breath running up the stairs. And what is all this chub around the hips?

One of my close friends used to say, “I’m built for comfort, not speed.” Now he’s running ultra marathons, and I’m staring at myself in the mirror thinking I’m not just built for comfort, I’m probably built for a recliner. I can imagine the salesman now. “Oh, you want something with a little more comfort? Well, let me show you this incredible offering, it’s a vintage from the 1980s, but this thing is built for absolute relaxation.” That’s me. Built for relaxation.

So it’s time to get this old body back into shape. I guess I’m not the only one who’s said this a thousand times while crying into another bowl of Ben and Jerry’s. How many dads must have said it? Even harder for the mums out there. You have this absolute incredible human enter your life, and everything you did before for yourself gets pushed down the priority list. If I have a spare 30 minutes, I feel guilty for not spending it supporting the family instead. Same for the wife.

And when you finally build up to that moment where you say, “I’m going Saturday morning, no, really, I am,” Saturday arrives and you’re absolutely broken from an exhausting week. It’s very hard to get your butt out the door and into the car to the gym. Doesn’t help that the coffee van right next to it does amazing cakes. Actually getting in the car to go there and enjoy a relaxing coffee and cake doesn’t sound that hard at all. That’s the problem. Everything is just easier than going.

And I don’t have an entire day free to go cycling or hiking over the moors, which would be far more enjoyable than sitting in a soulless room pretending I can lift something heavy. But on the flip side, I can’t stand how I look. I try to hide it now. Anything. You know it’s bad when you’d rather wear a hoodie in 30 degree heat than wear a t-shirt sticking to you, showing off how rotund you’ve become.

So here I am. Sat in the gym. Looking at myself.

Gosh, is this mirror warped? Surely that’s not me. Surely. I turn around like I’m auditioning for the next British Model, but looking more like Homer Simpson in a dress. It reminds me of those dodgy before photos you see online, except I never knew I needed to actually see myself in that shot.

Thinking, you can do this. I can do 30 minutes, right? I made it barely 5 minutes on the rowing machine, as a warm up. Warm up? That was my warm up. Surely that’s the entire session over, right? Just put the weights back, call it a win, tell the wife I smashed it.

Good news is the gym is tiny. And I mean tiny. End to end I think I could walk it in about 10 steps. That means not many people to get past. But we’ve got our usual subjects here. The guy doing bicep curls in the squat rack whilst admiring his pectoralis maximus. Then we have the influencer, more concerned with talking to her phone than actually doing anything real. And then there’s me. Hyperventilating after 14 reps. God help me.

Do you think anyone would notice if I just rolled towards the door and left? No, no, no. This is it. The start of the recovery. I’m here. I’ve made it. We can do this.

So to everyone else out there who’s just like me: give yourself a pat on the back for wanting to start. An even bigger one if you actually make it to the gym. And if you don’t, that’s not a failure, you’re being a parent. That’s the priority. We can always get fit later. Or maybe there’ll be some super duper new drug that makes you thin and fit without any of this.

Until then, two sessions a week, nothing heroic. Look, if I make it ten minutes next time, well, that’s five minutes better than this time. So let’s do this.