I am my own worst enemy.

Every morning there’s an ongoing battle in my mind as I try to muster up the strength to overcome the foe ahead: early morning boot camp, a grueling workout that gets my heart racing and sweat dripping and leaves me in pain after what feels like a million squats.

Warring within myself, the excuses barrage my brain: “I’m extra tired today. The dog really needs a walk. I can go after work.”

That is why I’m starting my New Year’s resolution two months early. (Some might say 10 months late, but I’d rather see the glass as half full.)

Getting a head start on a years-long goal to get healthy and fit can’t be a bad thing. Especially since the typical pattern is that a few months — or weeks even — into my New Year’s resolution, I give up the fight.

I’ve tried traditional gyms, hot yoga, Zumba, outdoor training, running clinics and so forth, but none lasted very long. After awhile, when the momentum and motivation are gone, I fall back into the sedentary lifestyle I so despise.

But that was not always the case.

When I was younger I was a pretty active girl. I danced hula, surfed, went night clubbing several times a week (that was hard work!) and managed to juggle an intense social life that always kept me on my toes.

But as I became a grown-up and started a career, had babies and entered into domesticity, I put all my energy into my children and their activities — basketball, football, gymnastics and kempo — leaving little time for myself. Meanwhile, my metabolism simultaneously slowed down in direct proportion to the time I spent driving them to practice and watching their games from the sidelines.

Then came the sudden realization that I was in a much older — and heavier — body. My cousin once told me that after reaching 40 everything goes downhill. “Once you hit 40, your body completely changes and it’s much harder to lose weight,” she said.

I refused to believe that and was determined to live the same active lifestyle as in years past.

I joined one of the top — and most expensive — boot camps in Honolulu earlier this year, figuring that paying a high premium would push me to succeed (the quarter Chinese in me hates wasting money), but my fitness goals were set back seven months after I broke my ankle in March. What little momentum I had built up faded away and I was forced to start all over again.

It’s not easy. It’s a daily struggle. As I type this, I am in full workout gear pondering whether I should get moving. I am two months early, after all.

“She Speaks” is a weekly column by women writers of the Honolulu Star-Advertiser.