I’d thought that pre-sports day nerves wouldn’t really be a feature of adult life, but as I arrive at the imposing door of a luxurious hotel in Knightsbridge, I feel those familiar knots in my stomach again. The ordeal before me isn’t quite school sports day, however: instead, I’m going to be put through my paces by none other than three-time Olympic champion Max Whitlock, who’s going to attempt to coax some gymnastic potential out of me.
He’s got his work cut out. I would describe my fitness level as distinctly average: I do yoga, I run three times a week, and go to the gym sporadically. But an Olympic athlete, I am not.
