I’m late.

It’s 9.30am and I’ve just woken up, approximately four hours after my morning routine was meant to start.

You see, Victoria Beckham, who I will henceforth refer to as Vicky because it’s a nickname I feel suits her even though she would detest it, starts her day between 5.30 and 6am with a 7km run on the treadmill, before doing legs, arms and core work with her personal trainer. It takes two hours in total.

Yes, she does not one, but two entire hours of exercise every morning and I’ve decided to try it for reasons that include humour but also self loathing.

Have I already failed before I was even conscious? Yes. But would Vicky let a sleep in ruin her day? Idk probs not.

So I get up with the full intention of getting straight into this workout.

Speaking to The Guardian’s Weekend magazine, Beckham says her 7km cardio first thing in the morning consists of “a mix of uphill fast walking, jogging, running”.

“That’s the only time I watch TV – boxsets, documentaries – so I look forward to that,” she says.

According to Beckham, this run/powerwalk "takes 45 minutes".

It's almost 10am and while I'm out of bed, I'm also... hungry. It's a Sunday and frankly it would be rude not to take myself out for brunch. It’s also THIRTY FIVE DEGREES and although I’m sure Vicky is very committed, I think even she would cut herself some slack when it's very hot/very cold/very hungry/very tired.

Also, going to get food means I'll be doing walking, which is EXPLICITLY part of my exercise routine.

By 11am things are not going to plan.

Guys, it's really hot and I've encountered a huge issue: I don't... want to do this.

At this point, I should probably acknowledge a few important factors that are at my disadvantage:

Firstly, I don’t like running. I like other forms of exercise, like yoga or Pilates, but running makes me sweaty and makes my heart beat fast and I'm very slow.

Secondly, I don't have a personal trainer. What I've planned to do is just attend an hour long Pilates class and pretend the instructor is my personal trainer, which should be sufficiently uncomfortable for everyone.

Thirdly, injuries.

Am I injured from previous exercise? Oh God no. I’m injured because I was mopping last night and slipped on the wet floor in what was perhaps the most shameful moment of the last decade. I hit my knee and my wrist and my back hurts.

The final factor at my disadvantage, of course, is prior commitments. While I had precisely no other plans for my day, they definitely didn’t involve two hours of exercise because I’m not a monster.

Anywho, as the investigative journalist I am, I decide to put these issues aside and do the workout.

I walk to the gym, because again, walking, and get on the treadmill. I start to run and even DO A FAST PACED WALK ON AN INCLINE JUST LIKE VICKY WOULD but then my personal trainer arrives it's time for my Pilates class.

This part of Beckham's morning workout consists of "30-minutes legs, 30-minutes arms, toning and conditioning, then loads of planks and that kind of thing for my core" - and because I would have no idea how to do those things on my own, a Reformer Pilates class seems like the closest thing.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The class is almost empty because it's a Sunday and, um, it actually does kinda feel like I have a personal trainer. This immediately becomes a problem as it emerges that a) this is a very difficult class and b) the instructor would like me to be... better at Pilates. Pls.

The class definitely doesn't equate to 30-minutes of legs and 30-minutes arms, because it also includes stretching, core work, and the instructor tutting at me extensively for forgetting how to adjust my foot bar.

At the end of the session, as we're stretching, the kind Pilates man tells me I need to stretch more, and sir, I know.

Somehow I don't think Vicky has ever been told she needs to stretch more. I think she stretches just fine.

"I expect a lot from my body – I’m 44, I’ve got four kids, I work a lot, I travel," she told The Guardian’s Weekend magazine.

I can't touch my toes, but okay.

After leaving my personal training session very publicly accessible class, I go back to the treadmill because dear God 7km is a long way.

I run and walk but there's nothing on the TVs, and I know Vicky would encourage me to just walk home and count that towards the run/powerwalk I WAS MEANT TO HAVE DONE BY 6.30 THIS MORNING.

Finally, as I'm on the way home, it happens.

I've done 7km.

I've semi-done Vicky's personal trainer workout.

And it's A QUARTER TO THREE IN THE AFTERNOON.

CLARE, PLS.

This is not how I saw this day panning out.

It's taken all day to do what Victoria Beckham achieves in two hours before many humans are even awake.

While, yes, I could interrogate my time management skills, life choices, priorities, etc, this much is crystal clear:

Victoria Beckham is a robot, made by scientists, for the purpose of making normal human women seem profoundly inefficient by comparison.

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