I came. I ran. I melted.

I'm officially 19 days into my 28-day gym challenge.

Nineteen! WTAF!?!

Which means I've reached that magical point where I'm no longer questioning whether I can keep going. I'm questioning whether I'll actually survive long enough to finish.

Last week, the UK decided to cosplay as the Sahara Desert.

Now, I know some people love the heat. Those people are either lying or have air conditioning. My gym, however, appeared to have neither.

Walking through the doors felt less like entering a gym and more like voluntarily stepping into a sauna.

Whoever designed the layout also deserves a special mention too because every treadmill sits directly in front of enormous windows. By lunchtime, they weren't cardio machines anymore, they were George Foreman grills with handrails.

I'd barely pressed "Start" before sweat was pouring off me with the enthusiasm of a fire hydrant that's just been introduced to a speeding lorry.

I've genuinely never produced that much liquid in my life. Even my Fitbit seemed concerned.

It wasn't tracking calories anymore... It was probably trying to contact my next of kin.

Yet... somehow... I kept turning up.

Not because I suddenly enjoy running. Let's not get carried away.

I still negotiate with myself every single day.

"Maybe today should be a recovery day?"

"You walked to the kettle... that's movement."

"You've been very emotionally active."

Unfortunately, Challenge Me from 19 days ago is an absolute idiot, and Present Me refuses to let Past Me win.

So off I go. Every. Single. Day.

This Week's Training

Day 12

65 Mins treadmill.

2:30 / 7:30 intervals.

900 calories burnt.

Day 13

10 mins bike.

Chest and back.

Day 14

10 mins bike

Upper back. Shoulders and biceps.

Day 15

65 mins treadmill.

2:30 / 7:30 intervals.

898 calories burnt.

Day 16

10 mins bike.

Chest. Back. Biceps.

Day 17

75 mins treadmill.

1 x 2:30 / 7:30 interval.

5 x 2:00 / 8:00 interval.

927 calories burnt.

Day 18

70 mins treadmill.

2:00 / 8:00 intervals.

967 calories burnt.

Day 19

70 mins treadmill.

1:30 walk. 60 min run.

None Stop!!!!

1,089 calories burnt.

Despite all the moaning (and believe me, there was plenty of moaning), something funny happened.

Every cardio day, I somehow managed to go a little bit further or a little bit harder than I had the day before.

Day 19 in particular completely caught me off guard.

The plan was simple: interval training. Run, recover, run, recover... you know, the sensible approach.

I got on the treadmill fully intending to stick to the plan.

Then I started running.

And... I just... kept running.

Every now and then I'd glance down at the timer expecting my brain to demand a walking break, but it never came. So I carried on.

Before I knew it, I'd been running continuously for an entire hour. An hour!!!!!

Of course, no personal best would be complete without the universe trying to humble me.

Picture the scene.

An entire row of empty treadmills.

I'm happily plodding along, completely in the zone, convincing myself I'm basically the Northern version of Forest Gump, whilst listening to a playlist of some of the chavviest dance music known to man.

Then, out of every available treadmill in the gym, someone chooses the one directly next to me.

Normally, no problem.

Except this particular individual had clearly mistaken deodorant for a government conspiracy.

For exactly 11 minutes and 20 seconds, yes, I know the precise time because trauma burns these things into your memory, I ran with my head twisted as far to the left as my neck would physically allow, desperately trying to snatch the occasional lungful of uncontaminated oxygen.

At that point, I wasn't even training my legs anymore. It had become an exercise in respiratory survival.

Somehow, despite the heat, the sweat, and what can only be described as an unexpected chemical warfare simulation, I kept going.

Frankly, I think that personal best deserves an asterisk.

The last time I'd managed an hour of running was back in 2013, when my knees were younger, my back didn't make weird noises every time I stood up and recovery didn't involve making involuntary old man noises every time I sat on the sofa. Not to mention I was also a fraction of the weight I am currently.

But 60 mins later, I climbed off that treadmill absolutely buzzing.

Not just because I'd accidentally ignored my own training plan, but because I'd just done something I genuinely didn't think I was capable of anymore.

I left the gym riding the kind of endorphin high that should probably be investigated. I was firing off voicenotes to anyone unfortunate enough to have their notifications switched on.

"YOU'LL NEVER GUESS WHAT I'VE JUST DONE!"

I'm not sure they were as excited as I was. In fact, I'm fairly certain a couple of them regretted pressing play on my message.

But I didn't care. For the first time in a very long time, I wasn't celebrating a number on the scales.

I was celebrating what my body could actually do.

And honestly? That feeling was worth every sweaty, miserable, heatwave-soaked mile.

Looking back over the week, I'm actually quite proud. Not because every workout was amazing, they definitely weren't.

Some days I felt strong and some days I questioned every life choice that had led me to voluntarily pay money to sweat indoors during a heatwave.

But here's the thing...

Nineteen days ago, I would have used the weather as the perfect excuse not to go.

"It's too hot."

"I'll go tomorrow."

"I'll start again next week."

This version of me still complained. Constantly. But I complained... while doing the workout.

I think that's the biggest difference.

Mounjaro has undoubtedly helped me lose weight, but this challenge is teaching me something completely different.

Consistency isn't glamorous. It's not motivational quotes. It's not perfectly edited gym selfies.

It's dragging yourself onto a treadmill that feels like it's been preheated to Gas Mark 6 and deciding that today's effort, even if it's slower, sweatier and slightly more dramatic than yesterday's, is still worth doing.

I'm also beginning to realise that my goals have quietly changed.

A few months ago, success was seeing the scales move.

Now, I'm just as excited by a new personal best, an extra kilometre, or discovering my body is capable of things I'd convinced myself were behind me.

That's a feeling no set of scales can measure.

There's only nine days left.

Will I finish them gracefully?

Absolutely not.

Will there be more sweating?

Without question.

Will I continue looking like someone who's just completed an escape room called "The Earth's Core"?

Almost certainly.

But I'm going to finish. With more determination than I anticipated having at this stage and hopefully without actually evaporating.