The result is that I decided to give a home grown (or at least internet researched) circuit a try. In the end I opted for the one that looked simplest and therefore least likely to make me look a tit. It is a straightforward mix of step work and easy lifts and exercises. Surely even I couldn't cock it up too badly?
Hmm, well if I gloss over the incident with the step - I thought it should be higher but couldn't for the life of me work out how to make it so, in the end I ended up breaking one off the feet off in frustration and then having to frantically stick it back on before any of the gym staff noticed. I am sure Jane Fonda never had these types of difficulties.
Moving swiftly on the idea is to step for two minutes and then do a set of weights. So far, so easy peasy. A minute into my stepping routine I was red faced, sweating and tripping over the step. This was not the walk in the park I was anticipating. After two minutes a Niagara of sweat was dripping off me and I was seriously regretting setting myself slap bang in the middle of the quickest route to the water fountain.
Every time anyone wanted a drink they passed me and did a horrified double-take at this sweaty mess of a woman leaping about in a crazed fashion on a far too low step. I rammed in my headphones and attempted to ignore the looks of pity and shock being shot my way by everyone who passed by.
On to bicep curls - at which point I realise that I have severely overestimated my capabilities and selected weights I can hardly lift. I persevere rather than let on to my error to the growing crowd of parched gym members who appear to need a drink every 20 seconds or so. I will have to start charging if they don't stop staring.
Eventually I complete my set of 12 lifts and nonchalantly swap my weights over ready for next time. Then it's back onto the step for more bouncing around, during which I can't help thinking that I really do need to upgrade my sports bra.
Next is lunges, thank goodness something I can do. Kettlebells in hand I commence my ministry of funny walks across the gym, gritting my teeth every time some idiot decides to stop and have a chat right in my path. Am tempted to drop a bell on their foot, but feel it may result in me being barred.
More wobbles on the step, and on to over head presses. Note to self, next time wear long sleeved top as bingo wings may scare the horses. And they certainly terrify all those toned 20somethings who I am sure are silently swearing they will never end up looking like me.
By now am flopping around on the step, falling over it and generally making a serious workout into a slapstick comedy. Final exercise squats. Well no one can make those look elegant, and as I push out my bum in the manner of a comedy chicken I just hope that the end result is prettier than the process it takes to get there.
At the end of three sets you could wring me out and I will definitely have to launder my eight-year-old's purloined jacket that I grabbed to cover up on the way out. Still fingers crossed the scales will finally be persuaded to slide downwards after all my hard work and tomorrow really is a day off as I have to complete the ultimate challenge - a day with the kids.