Have you ever seen the film Bridget Jones’ Diary? You know the scene right after she’s discovered that Daniel is cheating and decides not to be beaten by a bad man and a stick insect (or words to that effect)?

If you’re with me so far, you might understand where this post is heading already…

Bridget, deciding to get herself sorted out, replaces all her self-help books, starts looking for a new job and gets herself down the gym. We see her on a treadmill, working out like mad and you’re so proud of her for just trying so hard… Until she falls off the treadmill (or is it that she falls over as soon as she steps off? Either way, she suddenly becomes good mates with the floor).

I’m glad to say that I didn’t end up falling flat on my face during my latest training session. But I got close.

After a good 20 minutes on an exercise bike followed by an energetic 10 minute stint on a cross trainer – plus extra cooling down time – my legs were uncooperative to say the least.

My muscles ached and were screaming at me for a rest. I felt wobbly and uncoordinated.

It was only the realisation that a gaggle of personal trainers were stood just feet away scanning the room that helped me step off the machine with grace (or a passable attempt at it). The moment I made it to the changing room I collapsed on the bench, drinking water until I could stand again.

This time I got away with it – I think – but next time I’ll pick a spot a little further away from the gym staff in case of embarrassment. V good plan.

P.S. Don’t forget I’m not tiring myself out down the gym for nothing – so please sponsor me and help out CLIC Sargent – don’t make me share a story of actual gym humiliation before you give me your pennies!