Now this is not a trendy health club, this is the YMCA, the kind of place where you where you pump iron, feel the burn, hit the wall. It's supposed to be sweat time, or so I thought.

Last week, as I grunted away, The Ladies Who Chat arrived. They swooped in like locusts in leotards, crawling on and off the machines, flitting about, and all the time, they chatted.

"My daughter was with Lanvin but she moved to Arpege (gets on bike)…because they had cuter smocks…and the pay was the same so why not be comfortable in what you're wearing (adjusts seat)…I think she takes after me with those gorgeous legs (strokes calves wistfully)…and by the way Frieda that color looks great on you (gets off bike)."

And the return from deep in the corner:

"Thank you, there's a jacket too - (mounts treadmill) - we went to Lawry's last night and I'm not much of a prime ribber but my grandson wanted to take me for my birthday - (continues mounting treadmill) - and then the bill is in 3 figures - (treads) - I don't think he's ever seen a dinner bill that big - (gets off treadmill) - I think I'm getting a cramp (bites lip)."

Now, before I am accused of sexism, or ageism, or both, let me say that there are hard working women of all ages in this gym huffing and puffing with the best of them, and they are virtually talk free.

Unfortunately, the prime mission of The Ladies Who Chat appears to be to wear their cute little outfits, perch on the machines and make lunch plans.

"There's Houston's but the line is always so long - (checks pulse rate) - and they give you those pagers and mine started vibrating and scared me witless - (adjusts socks) - we could go to Edie's - they do chili in an ice cream sundae glass - (reties her Nikes) - with sour cream on the top and a cherry tomato - (checks tummy in mirror) - it's so clever - anybody up for Italian?"

By now I've got my towel around my head like Aladdin and I'm ready to mug the guy on the Lifecycle for his Walkman.

Now this YMCA is six blocks from my house, it's affordable, I have a cute little trainer in Spandex and I'm well into my last shape-up, at least in this lifetime. But the Ladies Who Chat are driving me nuts, and, they show up every day.

Clearly, I have to do something; I can't let them just do squats on my land. I fuss and fume until I work myself into a snit. I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore. I've got a plan, fire with fire; I'm going in there tomorrow and announce:

"Good morning ladies - how is everybody - by the way my doctor says I have an ear problem - I'm sensitive to certain frequencies and your voices are right in that range - so maybe you could all be really really quiet - 'cause I could have a seizure and lose control of all my bodily functions - and we wouldn't want that would we - who's next on the bike."

If that doesn't work, I'll just have to take up yoga.