When I was a child, PE wasn’t my happy place. I was bullied for the way I looked, so getting changed in front of other children and running around in a PE kit made me feel exposed before we’d even started.

Then there was my dad. He tried to encourage me to run with him, which was lovely in theory. The problem was that he was very fit and slightly too keen to demonstrate it. Within seconds he’d be disappearing into the distance while I was behind him, desperately trying to keep up and wondering whether I’d been left behind by accident.

I decided I wasn’t built for running. Looking back, that belief rested on fairly flimsy evidence, a small child failing to keep pace with her very fit dad. Yet those early experiences stayed with me. These days, I can stand in a gym worrying about what people think I look like, even while knowing they’re probably busy getting through the class themselves.

When I walk into a fitness class, I want an instructor who cares about the woman at the back. I want them to remember my name and understand why I’m there. If they know when I’m struggling, they can encourage me when my brain starts telling me I’m not good enough.

I’ve spent enough time thinking about my BMI and what health measurements tell me. In a class, I want to feel that the person teaching has noticed me beyond those numbers. I’m happy if they’ve forgotten how many reps I did last Tuesday, provided they’ve remembered who I am.

Give me someone who can laugh when the microphone cuts out, with hair flying and leggings that have seen better days. Their enthusiasm makes me want to join in, even when I’m red-faced and wondering whether my legs will cooperate.

The best instructors, for me, throw something unexpected into the class. I’m halfway through an exercise, my legs are burning, and suddenly they’re talking about their weekend or how much chocolate they plan to eat over Easter.

I’m listening because they’re letting me glimpse their life outside the studio. For a few seconds, my easily distracted brain has something to follow beyond the burning in my quads, and somehow I’m still doing the bloody exercise.

I’ve also been to classes where the instructor seems bored. The microphone works and the exercises are happening, but I’m already planning my escape. I want to work hard without feeling as though I’m failing, or that exercise is something I must endure to earn my next meal.

Enjoyment has a place in fitness advice too. The NHS recommends finding an activity you enjoy to help you keep doing it. For me, that’s a class where I can laugh while sweating my mascara off and looking like Alice Cooper.

During lockdown, Instagram made exercising at home look easy. With Cyrus sitting on the sofa watching, I decided Les Mills BODYPUMP was a sensible thing to attempt in my living room. Halfway through a move, I bashed the radiator hard enough to take a chunk of paint off it.

I then tried Les Mills BODYCOMBAT in the kitchen, another misjudgement. My kitchen was not designed for back kicks and there is only so far you can swing your leg when a cupboard occupies the space where your foot wants to go.

It was funny, but it made me realise how much talk of exercising in the comfort of your own home assumes your home is suitable. With Cyrus on the sofa, the washing in the background and the usual distractions around me, I never got into it.

There are other options, including free NHS home workout videos, for people who prefer exercising at home and have suitable space. I need to leave the house. I like walking into a class and knowing that, for the next 45 minutes, that’s what I’m doing.

Watching someone exercise in a spotless room doesn’t make me want to put my trainers on. I’d much prefer to be red-faced and laughing with everyone else than attempting a back kick between the fridge and the kitchen cupboards. My radiator has suffered enough.

I didn’t expect to enjoy the people around me so much. I’m not necessarily going to the gym to make friends, but I like walking into a class and seeing familiar faces. We compare notes afterwards, complain about how hard it was and turn up again the following week.

We don’t all look the same or want the same things from exercise, but for those 45 minutes we’re doing it together. Knowing there will be people who recognise me gives me another reason to go, even when my enthusiasm is low.

That attachment can make deciding whether to keep a gym membership more complicated than comparing fees. I want somewhere I can turn up, have a go and leave feeling I’ve been part of something.