The scrape of metal on metal grates my nerves and my eyes grow wide in horror.

What was I thinking when I decided to join the gym on my 40th birthday?

Visions of a massive slice of rich moist cake dissolve as the scale creeps ever upwards.

I have become my mom. My mom who was so consumed by her children and work that she forgot to take care of herself, not just physically but mentally as well.

My mom was great. She was amazing, but she also gave so much of herself to us that when my brother and I moved out I’m sure she was left wondering what happened to “her.”

Oddly, she was barely in her 40s when that happened. She had less than 20 years left to enjoy rediscovering herself before we would lose her.

That’s how I find myself face to face with one of those doctor scales sliding the little metal counter up – up – up until, horrifyingly, it stops far higher than I had anticipated.

Okay, I’m not that delusional. I am aware of how my pants don’t fit.

It wasn’t much higher than I thought it would be, but it was substantially higher than what I believe is healthy.

That is the key word for me – HEALTHY – not skinny, thin, size this or that, just healthy.

Two days before my 40th birthday, I decided to enthusiastically embrace a healthier side of life for myself and my family.

The trickle-down effect will benefit my family and my colleagues as well.

A healthier, more energetic me will be able to chase the children, and maybe even catch them, while simultaneously irritating my colleagues with my Tigger-ific bouncing around in the newsroom gushing about the latest delicious meal I’d concocted.

I’m a giver that way.

I joined the Lose to Win fundraiser to kick off my new decade and force me to focus on getting healthy.

Matt Stirling, a master trainer at Performance Health and Fitness, logged my measurements and ran me through a health assessment. My body fat percentage is high – 33 per cent.

When I stopped working out four years ago, it was 16 per cent.

That is my long term-goal.

Matt is a great motivator; the folks at Performance are welcoming. I’m planning on making it to the gym three times a week for an hour. But you know what they say about best-laid plans . . .

It won’t happen overnight, but in 11 months when I’m walking down the aisle with my daughters by my side I want to know that the man waiting for me will have to endure my horribly unfunny sense of humour (as he refers to it) for a long long long time.