28 days later and I'm still alive.... Just!

Well... I did it.

Twenty-eight consecutive days in the gym.

No excuses.

No missed sessions.

No mysterious illnesses that conveniently only affected me between 6pm and 8pm.

Just twenty-eight days of turning up, getting sweaty and proving I do, in fact, possess a small amount of self-control.

When I started this challenge on 10th June, it was all about giving myself a goal in the run-up to the Goodwood Festival of Speed. What I didn't expect was for the biggest challenge to be keeping my patience in check.

Honestly, some days tested my tolerance far more than they tested my fitness.

The bloke who decided the gym was the ideal place to watch the World Cup... was on his ipad at full volume... without headphones... whilst strolling leisurely on a treadmill.

The people who turn up in Crocs or sliders, casually kick them off and then start exercising in their socks like they're popping into the living room for a brew.

The bloke who seemed to think deodorant was an optional extra.

And then there was my personal favourite...

I was waiting to use a machine that was occupied by a lad who hadn't actually done a single rep in about ten minutes.

Naturally, I assumed he was catching his breath. Nope.

He was sat there, completely engrossed in his phone, researching different types of birds.

And before your imagination runs wild... I don't mean those kind of birds.

I mean pigeons. Sparrows. Robins.

The guy was essentially on the RSPB website whilst occupying the only machine I wanted to use.

I still don't know whether he eventually identified the chaffinch.

And yet... I survived. More importantly... They survived.

Which, given some of the thoughts going through my head at the time, is a minor miracle.

Then came the heatwave!

The kind of weather where sensible people stay indoors with a fan pointed directly at their face. Not me. No.

I voluntarily climbed onto a treadmill that had spent all afternoon being slow-roasted by the sun through the gym windows.

It genuinely felt like I was running inside a microwave. Every now and then I'd catch my reflection in the glass, bright red, dripping with sweat and quickly baking through the heat. At one point I half expected someone to walk past, tap on the window and ask,

"How much longer until the big lad's cooked?"

Despite all that...

I turned up. Every. Single. Day.

Now, before anyone starts picturing some elite athlete who's carved out of granite and lives on chicken, broccoli and positive affirmations...

Let's just calm ourselves down.

I'm still well over 100kg.

My BMI still reads more like a postcode than a health statistic.

If Nike rang tomorrow looking for an ambassador, I'd assume they were looking for their latest model for a "body positivity" campaign!

I'm not writing this because I've become some fitness guru.

I'm writing it because 28 days ago I'd have found an excuse, now I find a towel.

The Numbers

Over the 28 days I somehow managed:

• 6.0kg lost

• 113.47km on the treadmill

• 14,776 calories burned

• 1,091 minutes running (18 hours and 11 minutes)

• Improved my pace from 10:01/km to 8:47/km

• 125 minutes cycling

• 10 weight training sessions

• 287,388 steps (excluding the treadmill work - Sorry Eric)

Reading those numbers back genuinely surprises me. Not because they're Olympic standard. Far from it. They're impressive because they're my numbers. They're numbers I never imagined I'd be capable of putting together only a few months ago.

The biggest achievement wasn't the weight loss.

It wasn't the calories.

It wasn't even accidentally running continuously for an hour for the first time since 2013.

It was proving to myself that motivation is massively overrated. Discipline is what gets you through. There were days I couldn't be bothered. Days I was tired. Days the weather was trying to melt me. Days I questioned every life decision that had somehow resulted in me voluntarily paying money to exercise.

But I went anyway. And every single time I walked out of that gym, I was glad I'd gone.

So... What's next?

Absolutely nothing!

Well... for a few days anyway. I've earned a break. And this week is basically my version of Christmas.

Thursday I'm heading down to St Albans.

Friday it's the Goodwood Festival of Speed.

Saturday is a friends family BBQ followed by a 40th birthday party.

Then on Sunday I'll be heading up to Donington Park for the World Superbikes... and somehow I've managed to blag full hospitality tickets.

If you know me, you'll know this is pretty much my dream weekend.

Cars.

Motorbikes.

Good food.

Good mates.

Questionable dietary decisions.

I'm already excited enough that I've probably packed my bag three times.

Then on Monday, reality returns and I'll be back in the gym. Mainly because Thursday night involves Gracie's Pizza. If you know... You know.

Looking back, this challenge was never really about losing a stone.

It was about proving something to myself. That I could commit to something. That I could show up even when I didn't feel like it. That I could stop negotiating with myself every evening when it was easier to sit on the couch and Netflix.

Past Me would've looked at a 28-day gym challenge and laughed. Present Me completed it.

Still overweight? Absolutely!

Still a work in progress? Without question!

Still capable of demolishing a pizza if left unsupervised? Let's not ask silly questions!

But for the first time in a very long time... I'm genuinely proud of myself. An emotion that seemed impossible 6 months ago.

Now, if you'll excuse me...

I've got an incredible weekend to enjoy whilst Gracie's Pizza and I begin our toxic on/off relationship all over again.