From Zumba Mummies to hot Latinos, it’s a gym life for me

YOU know when you try to cancel your gym membership and they make you wait six months before you’re freed from your contract because you didn’t read the small print? There is only one feasible response to that. Go to the gym every single day.

You may die prematurely from over-exertion, but you’ll have got your money’s worth – which will make you feel better, even as you are carted off to A&E with heat exhaustion and snapped hamstrings.

You’ll meet entirely new species along the way. Like Kick Boxing Woman, punching the air and kicking out furiously, as the instructor shouts through headphones to imagine you are jabbing and hooking your boss’s face. That doesn’t really work if you are self-employed, but it’s still very good fun. Kick Boxing Woman is built like a Staffordshire bull terrier – tidy, compact, solid muscle, with a killer instinct. She will kick and punch to terrible music – speeded up Guns ’n’ Roses, Dire Straits set to a psychotic dance beat – and shout in time to her jabs. You hop from foot to foot behind her, watching her wing-less upper arms flash like strobes before your eyes, as you lamely copy her punches.