The Further Adventures of the Torture Machine
I. Hate. Exercise.
I've never made this a secret, as my husband well knows. I'm extremely whiny in the mornings when I have to get on the elliptical, AKA Torture Machine (TM).
The TM is in the dungeon basement. It lurks in the center of the room, mocking me every time I walk by it. We eye each other like enemies, especially when I come home from grocery shopping and have ice cream in my bag. I walk right past it with my Chunky Monkey with a "neener, neener."
Yeah, well, it gets me back the next day when it groans, honest-to-God groans, as I step onto it.
Hate it.
BUT, I've kept up a routine. I exercise on the damned thing at least every other day, and I'm now starting to see progress. I actually have muscle tone in my legs! I'm pretty sure I've lost some weight, but I don't have scales, so I'm not sure. I've definitely lost inches. I don't need to lose the weight–in fact, gaining in the form of muscle would be good–but I do need to lose inches around my waist and thighs.
It's working. The TM is actually working. Of course, I can't give all the credit to the stupid thing, because if it weren't for Buffy the Vampire Slayer, I wouldn't be able to stay on the TM for 10 minutes, let alone 40+. I just started season two, so I'm doing pretty good!
I just need to learn to sneak the ice cream in through the front door…
Of course, reading on the eliptical is pretty fun if you’ve got a bookholder. It’s all about making it fun.
I can’t read on the elliptical and exercise–I have to go too slowly to focus! When I was needing it, I was renting CSI. Total fluff, but it kept me on the elliptical.
