No excuses for not getting my butt back on the treadmill

I spent all day yesterday re-arranging the furniture in our bedroom to make room for an additional piece (i.e., the treadmill). What I realized early on is that I will not, am physically unable to, exercise on the treadmill when Darr's in his office. For one, I sweat buckets, which is totally unsexy and not cool. And B, after about thirty minutes of jogging my pits produce a smell worse than rotting deer carcass. Thirdly, I feel like a large schlump when I'm on the treadmill and reduce my pace and/or decrease the incline. Finally, it's all in my head but I can't help but feel he's tracking my progress, which I hate even though he's not actually tracking anything because he's focused on work, not on my treadmill experience. None of that matters now because as of yesterday early evening, the treadmill has been transported from his office into our bedroom. Now I have zero excuses for not getting my butt back on the treadmill and training for the half marathon that is looming out there in the future. There better be a cool finisher's necklace from Tiffany's at the end of this race like there was last time or I'm gonna be pissed.