In a new weekly feature, Her.ie's Liz is going to share her weight loss journey. She’ll be filling you in on fighting temptation, her willpower struggles with the cocktail menu and taking painfully slow steps towards regular exercise. All in the name of a dress. _____________________________________ Hanging on the wall at the end of my bed is the constant reminder I plan on shedding nearly two stone this year. I also plan on marking the trials and tribulations of ‘trying to be good’ – the favourite saying we all tout, and quickly replace when a cake is put in front of us. Week 62: The attitude change Last week, I let the public in on the fact that I’ve taken on a three month Bootcamp challenge in The Health Club at the Shelbourne. I even posted a “before” snap here, because I knew realistically, I needed to be accountable by more than just my keyboard tapping. So I entered this week with a slight anticipation. I had thrown down the gauntlet. I’ve never been a gym freak. I refuse to call anyone a gym bunny because realistically nobody above the age of five should be using that word ever, and it somehow seems insulting. Yes, freak sounds harsh too, but for most people sweating and exhausting yourself for an hour or two while pushing your boundaries wouldn’t be their idea of fun. But for some people, they’re all about the pain for gain philosophy. And in the weirdest sentence I never thought I’d type, I think I’m becoming one of them too. It all started when I realised I wanted to get myself a gym bag. My initial resolve that “I won’t get that into this and I won’t need a gym bag long term” was thrown out the window when I was trying to stuff my clothes for work into a rucksack for a fourth day in one week. The necessity to buy a proper sports bag had never presented itself, but considering I was throwing more gym gear and support bras into my washing machine than ever before, I knew that (for once) I was sticking this out. It also meant I needed to buy more sports bras. Doing squats is hard enough without trying to hold down my chest. I have enough wobbly bits to worry about, thanks very much. I even thought if anything, with my Personal Trainer Philip on holidays, my usual sleepy girl battles with the alarm clock would take over. Luckily Philip seemed to pre-empt this and arranged for one of his colleagues Simon to take over. There was no escaping my workout. As well as an hour’s introduction to TRX (which I loved), there was a foam roller exercise that convinced me Hitler was reincarnated as a tiny piece of gym equipment digging into my spine. I was promised that the more I did it, the less painful it gets. I’m on round three. I still feel like I deserve a shot of tequila after each trial. I also managed to run through my programme three times this week (designed to last roughly an hour each time), and built around HIIT training, weights and flexibility. As well as an hour’s session, the two instructors have just been checking in. How I’m finding the programme, how sore I am (the answer is usually me working out how to say my body aches without whining), and how my food diary is going. I was advised to try to eat clean 80 per cent of the time. If I could manage that, then I was winning the battle with chocolate and all things fatty and delicious. I swear a part of my brain can sniff out a deliciously dangerous treat a mile off... Knowing a tough week tends to end at the bottom of a jar of Nutella, I decided save myself weeks of half-arsed attempts at self-restriction and find another weight watchers class to attend. I informed my leader that I had a 3 month goal of losing 1 stone,  but a short term goal was losing 4-5 pounds in the first month. With week one just under my belt, and countless gym sessions where for once I actually knew what I was doing rather than just wandering around picking up weights, and putting them back down again, I stood on the scales and waited for the figures to flash up on my screen. I was down 3lbs. In one week. And I’d even had a glass of wine with dinner the night before, because I told myself no matter how healthy I was going to be, I was also going to be realistic. So I’m delighted with life. And by the time you’ll have read this I’ll have had a morning swim to start off my day. I don’t want to jinx things just yet, but I think I might be getting the hang of this healthy living lifestyle. Or maybe it’s beginner’s luck? I just know I’ve already achieved 20% of my target and I’m only 10 days in. Which isn’t bad going considering this day last month I was eating ice-cream and wondering why my jeans felt a little tighter. Let’s just wait and see how week two goes before I start REALLY celebrating…