*Pant* *Click* *Pant* *Click* *Gasp* *Click* *Pant*

That would be me, and the sounds coming from the area of the elliptical machine. Yes, I have made sure my chubby ass has been on that taunting bastard for at least 30 minutes the past two nights. And I hope to continue.

From the amount of sweat rolling down my stomach and back and the pain in my thighs, you'd think I'd be working off some major calories. Nope. After 30 minutes last night, I had burned a total of 220 calories. That's not even the equivalent of one chocolate chip cookie! I think the monitor on the machine is lying to me.

The only thing I like about the machine is that it positions my feet far enough apart on the pedals so my thighs don't rub together. Because let's face it, there's no need to start a fire while exercising. It's really hard to get the smell of burned exercise shorts out of the curtains. (And it's horrible to get off the machine and have your rubbery sweaty thighs instantly glue themselves together. Blech!)

When I first got the elliptical (umm, let's see, that was back in March?) I figured I would watch TV while on it. I could just picture myself trucking right on while watching my favorite programs or movies.

Real life, of course, is nothing like that. It's possible, but I keep getting bored by what's on and then I get distracted by the pain in my thighs. And once you start concentrating on the pain, it's pretty much over. Also, it's really hard to hear what Jon Stewart's saying over the panting and gasping for air.

So, I tried a different technique--and here's where it's a good thing I live alone. I charged up my MP3 player and plugged in the earphones. Now I sing at the top of my lungs while exercising. Of course, I can't really call it singing, more like off-key dying moans set to music only I can hear. The boys have decided hanging around outside is better than staying in the same house with me.

And keeping them out of the room is a good thing, since Jake got himself trapped between the wall and the machine the other night. Poor kid almost climbed the wall in order to get out of there. I didn't know he was stuck for a while because I was so busy listening to an old Barbara Mandrell song ("If Loving You Is Wrong, I Don't Wanna Be Right) and gasping at the top of my lungs while mouthing the words. I suddenly sensed he was behind me and turned to find him standing on his hind legs with his back up against the wall. From the desperation written on his face, I think he was wishing he would suddenly disappear into the wall in order to get out of there. I stopped for a minute and coaxed him out, then watched him flee for his life.

Dude, if I were as skinny as he is, I'd run from that damned machine, too.