It was back to the gym today after two weeks - save for one morning run on Portstewart Strand - of gorging and glugging. And needless to say I wasn't alone.
Yes, the great post-Christmas waddle to health and fitness clubs across the country has begun.
For most it started yesterday. But sadly my local gym had to close early after a particularly large lady got her arse jammed in the main doors. (OK, I made that bit up).
It was a spin class for me, alongside Maria who hosted us so fabulously (daaahling) on New Year's Day. Vanessa was actually in the building, but went for facial instead. Probably to have the remnants of sticky sweets and chocolate sandblasted off.
But back in Studio 1, my spinning buddies and I sweated and harrumphed until we could do so no more. Mainly, because another class needed the room.
It was the only time in my almost 18 months of gym membership that a spinning class I'd signed up for was full. It was the only time that a register was taken in case non-bookers had attempted to sneak in. (Honestly, a register). And it was the only time that every one of the windows and the all-important (for some - you know who you are) wall mirrors turned fuzzy because of condensation.
Michelle was the trainer in charge. I like Michelle. She's smiley and fun and goes like a steam piston. On her bike. She's also around about my age, I think, which is reassuring in an "if she can do it, I can do it" kind of way. (It makes sense to me, which is all that matters).
The only problem is that she's really small and, when you're at the back of the class (as I tend to be), she's hard to see and therefore follow. When she's standing up on her pedals, I'm often down, And when I stand up to see if she's down, she does go down and immediately disappears. Still, it breaks the tedium.
But we all got through it, Maria and me on our bikes and Vanessa in her face machine. We're all due to return on Thursday when I suspect the gym will already be less busy.