Why I'm Not a Runner

Here we go.  Sweat pants, t-shirt, running shoes, pony tail.  I stare at the ominous treadmill and we have a stand off.  It's 8:00 am.  The two older boys are in school and the two younger kids are strategically placed in front of their favorite morning show downstairs.  It's time.  I get on the conveyer belt and push the start button.  30 seconds pass with a pretty good warm up.  One minute...I get ready to turn the speed up from a fast walk to a slow jog.  One minute, thirty seconds..."MOMMY!  Can we have a DRIIIINK?!"  I hit the Stop button, go down the stairs, get two cups of milk, then back up the stairs aaaaaand press the Start button.  Two minutes, three, four, to a little faster jog..."MOMMY!  Lauren spilled her DRIIINK!"  Stop button...Down the stairs, clean, clean, clean, up the stairs....Start button.  Five minutes and a slow run to keep the heart rate up from the built-in stair master I just finished.  Six minutes, seven..."MOOOOOMMY!!!  Can we have some eggs?"  Stop, down, eggs, up, Start.  Eight minutes and I can hardly breathe.  I'm sweating and my hair smells like eggs.  Nine minutes, running fast, ten, eleven..."MOMMY!  The tv show is OOOOVER!"  Stop, down, tv off, up, collapse and done.  THIS is why I'm not a runner.