By Natasha Reis

It begins like any other day. The alarm rings ten decimals higher than you’d like, the noise searing through your eardrums and peeling your eyelids open far too prematurely. It is insanely early by anyone’s standards and yet you have embarked on a mission so great that 6am is a necessary time to be alive and kicking.

You have of course promised yourself that this year would be different. That this year your love handles would be a thing of the past. You would wear your best frock, sip fancy cocktails and laugh about the times your stomach jiggled. Best frock? You would hiss, no. You are slim and attractive; you will become a nudist and consequently show everyone else the levels of fitness they are missing out on.

Except that it is 6am and you are sorely regretting this decision as it is only two weeks in and you have slipped up at least twice on your diet (the number is far greater but only you need to know the true figure).

You choose this time because during a rush of determination and stupidity the number 6 was imprinted in your mind with the connotations of health and fitness. Doesn’t everyone wake up this early? Is this not the first step to washboard abs? The problem is how are you supposed to do those 6am workouts when you are fast asleep and have snoozed your alarm 10 times already?

You have heard sleep is good for you so perhaps it is better to stay in bed.

By about 12 noon your stomach begins to rumble, you are at work. Hush now, you whisper. At this point you wonder if chocolate is truly that bad for you. There is a slim lady in your office and she is currently munching on a Cadbury bar: this seems too great a coincidence. But alas the salad you so painfully slaved over last night is sat on your desk begging for your attention. You even went to three different stores just to find natural beetroot. You cannot tarnish the sanctity of the salad with a chocolate bar. And yet the countless E numbers and preservatives are still calling your name.

At exactly 5:30pm you will finish work and at exactly 6pm you will arrive to your new second home; the gym. This is a wondrous place you tell yourself; you are in no way intimidated by those who use the machines with an expertise that suggests they are professionals. No matter you tell yourself, how hard can a treadmill be to use? Extremely. It is asking you to type in your weight and a strange paranoia washes over you. What if it relays this information out loud? At this point in your life you would rather it read out your bank details. Perhaps your balance would be a good weight goal for you? You wonder.

It has just turned 10pm and you are tucked up in bed replaying that gym session in your head. You wonder if you already look slimmer.

Six weeks of this daily routine has heavily dishevelled that determination you once held. The chocolate bar sits opened on your desk and the once ripe beetroot now rotting in your fridge.

Perhaps 2016 is the year. Until then you worry about whether you have put on more weight or not.