As sure as night follows day, indulgent Decembers surrender to Januarys of detox and determination. Millions confess their sins of gluttony and sloth, swear to amend their ways and charge into the New Year with triathlon aspirations and bikini dreams.

Sadly, having failed to factor in illness, unexpected deadlines and random acts of weather and travel gods, by February almost as many see their resolutions crushed into exhausted resignation.

The experience is all the more bitter for those who sealed their vows by sacrificing small fortunes to the contemporary shrines of health and sveltness; the gym. Britons alone waste £200 million annually on unused subscriptions.

Once, whilst in the throws of relocation, I attempted to cancel my gym subscription and discovered that what I thought was a direct debit was actually a financial contract; breakable only in return for my first-born.

I moved to a new area and left the gym behind, forever. I started walking. Very soon I wondered why I’d ever wasted money on the overpriced sweat boxes in the first place.

Although, some mornings I could barely prise myself from the duvet’s embrace, I’d soon remember the price I was paying for skimming the small print. And off I’d go, striding out my frustration in a bid to stay fit and just this side of sanity. Triple espressos are no match for the backside kicking power of resentment.

I walked through hail, fought against winds that pressed against my chest like brick walls. I ran under storm-driven waves, arching their watery spines above me and crashing into bubbles that frothed at my feet.

Ok, before you have me pigeon-holed as some kind of vengeful, gortex-clad masochist, let me explain. The initial fury soon burnt up; like calories. What kept me going was the sense of adventure that replaced it. Each morning as I slipped outside I became an explorer in a chameleon-like land. A place that was unique, daily. Mine to enjoy in the peaceful moments before the working world awoke.

I’d watch the saffron and rose ribbons of sunrise unfurling across the sky and tinting the sea. I’d see alien shaped rocks exposed by low tides and food fights on the beach; cormorant robbed by black-backed gull, in turn mobbed by bawdy herring gull cousins.

I’d immerse my meditative side in the sounds of nature and by 8am everyday I pulsed with achievement. I’d step across the threshold of my home feeling like a super hero; having wrestled with the elements and defeated my inner couch potato.

I kept walking because I loved it. And that’s the key

Punishing regimes aren’t paths to pastures new, but routes to familiar failure. Even vanity and financial obligation are not sustenance enough for the long haul. Only passion transforms resolution into reality. And the good news is that you don’t have to wait ‘til next year. You can start today, next week, March even.

If you’re looking for less pain, more gain; try walking. The rosy-cheeked, breathless sense of well being experienced on a frosty, wintry day makes everything look magical.

So give yourself a break and a fighting chance. Go gently and frugally. Splash out on a new pair of boots and walk your way into your own adventure.