In a new weekly feature, Her.ie newbie 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 33: Working on being a skinny b*tch I’m typing this in serious pain from my bed. Throbbing pain in muscles I didn’t know existed. If there was ever a time I should have trained a skilled helper monkey, now would have been his time to shine. Punching keys hurts me, so I dread actually having to get up today. Yesterday I took part in a training session with Russell Bateman. Otherwise known as the Skinny Bitch Collective. Think Fight Club, but instead of properly demolishing someone, you’re working on destroying the flab. Being personal training besties with Millie McIntosh and Laura Whitmore, I was totally convinced the man would either see me as his ultimate challenge, or run crying himself. Neither happened. It was my fighting back the tears. And by tears, I mean I left blood and a lot of sweat on the carpet floors following that hour. I went through an hour of what I picture might be used as torture methods in some far off country. To say the man has a reputation for getting women fit is an understatement. I even heard from my roommate (who happens to be a fitness fanatic) that this is THE craze the masses are turning up to in droves to sculpt, tuck and tone. I knew after an hour I would look incredible. And by incredible I mean sweaty beyond belief. There are women queuing up around the corner in London for a chance to take part in one of these classes. I was getting the privilege of trying one out in The Marker hotel in Dublin. I didn’t realise I should have probably just booked my bed for the night right there and then. Because stairs would not be my friend. Anything involving moving my hips for the next few days is basically going to be a bad idea. Walking in, I should have seen the look of nervous pity on the porter’s face when he directed me to the room. That was my hint. Why oh why didn’t I take the hint? So I walked in where I was greeted by a bunch of lovely ladies who all had the same fitness goals in mind. To be Kate Moss in an hour. Clearly this man was the answer. Russell started off with getting us to do some warm-ups with our backs to the ground and stretching out our hips. This was lovely?! Why were people so dramatic online? He wasn’t harsh, or pushing us to our limits. I wasn’t worried though. The celeb bodies proves he knows his stuff. Then the REAL pain started. I won’t unleash the hour on you, but what you need to know is that I attempted to crawl back and forth on my hands and kneed myself in the face. And that was by far the least painful thing I did. We also did mountain climbing against a wall (well everyone else did – gravity and my awkwardness meant I did it against the ground) and then there were burpees. Otherwise known as the most painful repetition of stress induced moves ever. My highlight was definitely more in line with the fact that he had some serious dance tunes pumping. I wasn’t loving it so much when we had to do press-ups in time to the beat. It was so catchy but it also meant we didn’t give up. Or maybe the look on the diners’ faces when we had to run THROUGH the restaurant and sprint back into the session. I don’t know what was more upsetting – holding down my boobs running through the reception of a ridiculously beautiful hotel, or eyeing up the cocktails knowing not a single drop would pass my lips. By the end of the class I made the assumption that Russell was sent as some type of hilarious hidden camera show. He didn’t actually think we could do this entire routine for an hour?! I would have probably decided he was public enemy number one had he not started chatting at the end. Telling us how we had just trained everything from our cores to our arms and that women are hilariously competitive so his classes mean the ladies are spurring each other on. I’m thinking like an army at war, where you can’t leave a man behind. Or you know, collapsed on the ground. He happened to be quite the charmer and ridiculously friendly. I mentally removed the pins from my imaginary voodoo doll as he kept talking. So today, I’m taking it much easier. I’m going to workout my arms by lifting the remote and cups of tea to my mouth from the comfort of my couch. Honestly, I think that’s the only thing my body is fit for today. On the brightside? I lost a pound of fat this week. It’s probably melted into the floors of The Marker, but I’m happy to leave it as a parting gift. I know myself and The Whitmore will be exchanging notes next time I see her from across a music festival. And by notes, I of course mean I’ll be looking at her toned legs in awe from afar. Because right now I really can’t feel mine. Height: 5ft 8 Starting Weight: 174 lbs Current Weight: 158 lbs Weight Loss To Date: 16 lb Goal: 148 lbs Feeling: Sore The Dress in Question… NOW FITS!