It turns out that it is now quite uncool to make New Year's resolutions or to make big fitness goals for the year ahead. The fact that (based upon zero scientific evidence) 99.9% of all resolutions have been kicked to the kerb by mid January, makes rubber stamping a list of big life goals for the coming months, seem a bit daft and whimsy.

Today I ate a modest bowl of porridge at 6.30am before the children surfaced. A large hummus salad at 1.30pm at work. A half chewed chocolate danish pastry, a couple of sausage rolls and a packet of haribos with the kids. A lamb and potato stew this evening. See my problem?

 I think there comes a time in many peoples lives when they just accept that they're not athletic. I've known for a while now that getting sweaty in the pursuit of fitness does not come naturally to me. I tell myself that a nearly full time job and two small kiddie winks is the reason I don't work out a lot. But, to be honest, when I was footloose and fancy free I was a lazy moo. I've always been fairly slim, (apart from at the moment, at the moment my bum is definitely on the peachy side) so I haven't felt the imperative to work out frequently. I wasn't really encouraged to exercise as a teenager and was always too self conscious to work out in front of other people. A classic recipe for exercise avoidance. Having said all that, historically I've managed to dip in and out of a regime of some kind. The gym, walking, ballet, riding, tennis, mountain biking - I've done it all in small doses, keeping my stamina ticking over.