I am a 38 year old man. I drink too much, I smoke too much, my diet is rubbish, I do no exercise, and I think I might be having a mid-life crisis.

Everywhere I look, I see the body beautiful. No longer are these models of physical perfection confined to the silver screen and to the pages of fitness magazines; they are omnipresent: London, Newcastle, Colchester, and everywhere else I happen to be. It depresses me; it shames me; and it makes me angry because I have spent years convincing myself that I am comfortable with the way that I am and the way that I look.

Rather than wallowing in self-pity, I have decided that pragmatism is far more beneficial than self-indulgent woefulness. There are somethings I cannot change (I will always be 5’5” and my hair is only likely to recede further), somethings I have changed (my teeth are much healthier, straighter and whiter), and somethings I can try to change. And so I have set myself a challenge: is it possible for somebody like me to achieve the much coveted beach body?

Tuesday 2nd September at 7:00am — my official start date! I have three days left to eat (or not, as the case may be), drink and be merry. From Monday evening, the challenge begins in earnest: I will be living, eating, breathing aesthetics. My biggest concern, right now, is how the hell will I get my lazy backside out of bed at 6:00am and make it to the gym before 7:00am? I am beginning to think that opting for pre-morning gym sessions was a very bad idea. Before then, I have a 40 question pre-assessment questionnaire to complete — there goes my Friday evening!

Finally, the gym has contacted me and my trainer has been assigned! Of course, the first thing I did was check out who this guy is. My first impression: he doesn’t look as scary as I anticipated (phew) and he is young. Very young. Probably too young. Not that I have a problem with young people: I just can’t see how somebody younger than my little brother will be able to motivate me — with age, I have become increasingly obstinate and difficult. Perhaps it would have been better if I had been assigned to a 6’5″ bodybuilder with the temperament of a Royal Marine. On a more positive note, the trainer’s academic record is pretty impressive. I am determined to keep an open mind. Besides, the gym’s whole philosophy centres on team work; I am sure the browbeaters  will be ushered in, should I misbehave too much.

After a ten minute tube journey and a further ten minute walk, I see the gym. I also see one of the gym’s personal trainers — instantly recognisable by the branded kit and awe-inspiring frame. I take a step forward. He turns. We make eye contact. I stop dead in my tracks. Squeal. Panic. Pivot. And walk away.

Two cigarettes and a good self-chastisement later, I retrace my steps and enter the gym.

The first thing I noticed about the gym was how functional and monochrome it looked. The walls are white and the furniture is white. All the equipment is black and all the personal trainers  — there are a lot of personal trainers — are dressed in black. It even seems that all the trainers’ hair is black, or absent, in some cases. No fuss, no comfort and no superfluous niceties — this place clearly means business.

After completing a brief questionnaire, the guy running the consultation gave me a tour of the facilities and led me to the consulting room. Although he is not one of the personal trainers, he is still a pretty imposing guy at well over six foot tall. Fortunately, he was also a nice guy — I imagine he is used to prospective clients being nervous. In addition to running through some basic questions (what are your goals? have you trained before? how much time can you commit? what days and times do you prefer to train?), we also managed a little small talk, which certainly made me feel a little calmer. That’s not to say I was by any measure calm at this point. I still felt vaguely sick and incredibly uncomfortable. The fact that my contact lens spontaneously decided to  folder over and lodge itself into the corner of my eye did not help matters. It is incredibly difficult to maintain an air of nonchalance with a left eye  that refuses to stop blinking at 60 beats per minute. I never knew I was this socially awkward!

Finally the ordeal was over. I signed up for the three month intensive course and paid my first instalment. All I need to do know is wait to be matched with a trainer (presumably one that is available at the times I specified) and stress over who it will be.

Using the company’s online system, I have booked a free 30 minute consultation. During the consultation, I will be given more details of what services are available and the payment options. I will also be given the chance to see the gym.

I researched a variety of options from high street gyms to personal trainers with their own private studios and I finally opted for a company that has been described as the best personal training facility in London.

I am well aware that the testimonials on the company’s website are a marketing device and not every client of theirs will achieve such impressive results; however, this company has been mentioned in the press and at least one respected individual who signed up for the three month intensive training achieved spectacular results. If I can be half as successful, I will be pleased.

Unsurprisingly, a three month course with these guys is not cheap, but then it is certainly not prohibitively expensive either — at least in the short term. Whilst there undoubtedly are cheaper options available, I wanted to give myself the best chance possible. My theory is, if after three months I am happy with the results, it might inspire me to continue improving my health, albeit at a regular, more affordable, gym; if after three months I am not overly impressed with the results, I know that I tried, I have scratched an itch, and I never have to step foot in a gym again.