I decided to begin the experience with a new slate; previous gym stereotypes of burly men with large chests and a taste for both protein shakes and themselves were banished from the brain. Richard, the gym’s membership manager, told me that one of Soho gym’s predominant aims was to rid their member’s gym-time of such a prejudice. “We’re aimed at young people,” he confidently told me, “you’ll never see posers here, it’s all about getting onto the latest equipment: no queues and no fuss.” Whilst this rested my initial concerns about being flicked with a towel by a man twice my size, I was still unsure. The ‘latest’ equipment and ‘no queues’? This spelt an obligation to me: if I didn’t show progress then surely I’d be branded the most de-motivated man in the world? The pressure was on.

Yet dealing with pressure is one of Soho’s specialities. The company’s staff pride their workplace on being a place to ‘unwind’ and ‘chill’. I wasn’t so sure. A free weights area was certainly free from posers, but the presence of 50kg weights was enough to intimate even the most ardent of average men; the Arnie body I had yearned for was a long way off.

It came as a surprise therefore, that upon touring the gym I was introduced to the steam and sauna area. “A hit with the student members.” Richard told me. “There’s no better way to relax the mind before that night-before essay job, than to relax in the sauna.” I decided to test it myself, and, resting somewhere between a hug and a Dairy Milk, it was very pleasurable indeed. What’s more, the rooms were ultra-modern, with a chic tiling, making the experience that little bit more luxurious. I was reassured by Richard that access to the sauna and steam room would be included in any student membership.

Of course, the real test for any gym is its results. Members pay good money and expect a return on their investments in the form of a healthy body. Indeed, Alan, a 23-year-old masters student went further, telling me, somewhat elegantly, that he joined the gym to ‘…pick up birds.’ Sadly, this article will not include the ‘picking up’ of the opposite sex as a measure of the gym’s capabilities, but for those interested, Alan has assured me that I will remain updated.

Included in the membership fee is a gym induction, which goes further than most other fitness establishments as Soho staff write up a full routine with the member’s aims in mind. Emma, my personal trainee for the hour, asked me what my personal aims were. My response was obvious: “To get some muscle.” She mulled this over for several seconds, before offering a most welcome reply: “To develop some more muscle,” she corrected me. Whilst this could have been an exemplary display of customer service, bordering on blatant lies, it certainly served to encourage. With self-belief onboard I was ready for my programme.

And what a programme it proved to be. Three days covering sixteen different weight-based exercises, with eighteen repetitions of each meant that I was to do two hundred and eighty-eight a week. These figures meant only one thing – finding a way around them. However, Emma deviated from her earlier pleasantries by offering me a stark warning: “Stick to the programme with your life.”

My first session in the gym wasn’t fantastic. Beads of sweat turned into streams, and my breath became steadily louder with each exercise, until my breathing pattern resembled that of a clinically-obese man in a McDonald’s give-away. This was it for three months.

Still, each of the first three days finished on a positive. I retired to the sauna, and, lying back on the bench, my body worn and tired, I closed my eyes. Allowing the warm air to circulate against my expired muscles, I felt something unique: for the first time in a long time I felt like I deserved my moment of pleasure.

The idea was simple: take one person of average proportions and see what three months of a personalised fitness programme could do for him. There were to be no reductions in the chocolate to fruit ratio, no protein shakes and definitely no ab-tronic belts (eBay, apparently, does a roaring trade in these). Instead, it was just to be the gym and me: a real test for both of us.

My previous experience of gym life consisted of one visit to the local fitness centre at home. A game of squash was cut short by some benign racket handling and my day ended in a trip to the local hospital, thus leaving a particularly sour taste in my mouth and something of a reluctance to visit the gym again. Nevertheless, backed up by a multitude of fitness-based New Year resolutions, my determination was rife and I was ready to meet the challenge, and, with that, January 2009 marked the first month of a new me.

This blog will be updated online on a weekly basis, whilst there will be an extended version in the printed edition of King’s Bench magazine. Of course, true to the history of this fine publication – nothing will be omitted. Every detail, from the development of an ab to the changing room atmosphere will be included. Dear reader, you will hear about every embarrassing moment, and, should this thing go well, perhaps there will even be the odd success-story. This regular feature will also serve as a scrutiny for Soho gyms. Everything from customer service to gym atmosphere, cleanliness to cost will come under consideration.

Of course, if all was to fail I had my father’s endearing philosophy to fall back on: “The best way to get a healthy body is to marry one.”

Cheers dad.