Angry Music

Recently certain members of my family who apparently don't love me all that much signed me up to run a marathon.  In their enthusiasm to run, they assumed I would love to run with them.  Wrong!  Nothing could be more wrong!  One day last August, while my children were training  (I didn't actually train very often, but this is fodder for a different post), my daughter Sydney borrowed my I-pod because her battery was dead.   After she returned, she whined about my music selection, and asked, “Dad, what's up with your music?  It's all so angry." I dismissed her complaint as envy--everyone knows that my music is almost entirely classic rock--what's not to like about that?  Well that was my thinking until I experienced something during one of my few training runs last August in the in extreme heat.  As I was struggling through my long run and listening to JB (no, that's not "Justin Bieber"--that would be "James Brown") I started to think that maybe Sydney was correct.  Everything coming up on my playlist was indeed very angry. 
                                   I want Revenge, I want some payback. 
                                   I'm mad.  My patience ends on revenge.
                                   I want some get-back.  I don't know Karate, but I know Caarrrazzzy!
                                   You Mother get ready for the Big Payback!
                                   (James Brown--The Big Payback)

Whoa!  That seemed pretty angry.  I quickly skipped to the next song on my playlist:
                                   I'm gonna warn you just one time.
                                   Next time I warn you, I'm gonna use my gun
                                   I'm mad, like Jessie James
                                   (John Lee Hooker--I'm bad, like Jesse James)

Double whoa! Scary angry music.  Next song up:
                                   Born down in a dead man's town
                                   The first kick I took was when I hit the ground
                                   You end up like a dog that's been beat too much
                                   Till you spend half your life just covering up
                                   (Bruce Springsteen--Born in the USA)

Yep, you guessed it. More angry music.  It went on and on.  I wondered, "Don't I have any happy Pop music on my playlist? Surely, I must have some Britney, or Selena Gomez or something happy to run to."  When I got home I reviewed my playlist and discovered the only Britney song included on my playlist was "Piece of Me" which is probably Britney's worst display of attitude. 

So what's up with my running playlist?  I have thought long and hard about this question.  Is my playlist a subconscious representation of how I feel about running?  Or has listening to angry music negatively influenced my attitude towards running?  Loyal readers of Darrell's Yakimania have frequently lobbied prestigious universities for me to be bequeathed with an honorary degree in psychology because of my insightful ruminations concerning human nature, and in particular my numerous contributions to a greater understanding of the peculiarities of the male psyche.  I am sure that what I discovered is well based in scientific theory.

I hate running because of my life's experiences.  I don't remember hating to run when I was young--in fact, I have fond memories of chasing around my neighborhood as a kid.  I think it all started in Jr. High School when I first played football.  When we made mistakes our coaches punished us by making us run wind sprints.  Next, I tried out for track in high school but was not fast enough to sprint and did not have the endurance to succeed as a distance runner.  Consequently, I was unsuccessful in my bid to letter in track.  Finally, and most important is my many years of wrestling and cutting weight.  Dialing in your "strength-to-weight" ratio is critically important in wrestling.  Finding the point to which you can cut and not lose strength is a very tricky proposition. 

Essentially, the only way to effectively control your weight as a wrestler is to run.  Early in the season, I ran like a cross country runner to get within striking distance of my desired weight.  However, this is not what caused me to viscerally hate running.  Several days before weigh-ins I ran hungry.  Again, this is not what caused me to truly loath running.  The day before, and the day of weigh-ins, I usually ran thirsty.  Running thirsty is unbelievably difficult.  People who have never wrestled, pity "starving wrestlers."  They don't have a clue what wrestlers actually experience in trying to shed the last several pounds by extracting water from their bodies.  The thirst endured by wrestlers who are cutting weight is something you have to experience to truly comprehend.  While wrestlers who are cutting weight incessantly talk about food, wrestlers who are drastically cutting weight are singular in their obsession with water and liquids in general.  My freshman year in college was horrific.  During that season, I swore an oath that I would drink an Orange Julius every day for the rest of my life to reward my body for what it endured. Anything sweet and cold and juicy. Mmmm.  Running to extract heavy water from your body when all you can think about is sucking on something sweet and cool is enough to drive you crazy.  I am convinced that it's not my body habitus, it's not my attitude, and it's definitely not my angry playlist that causes me to detest running-- simply put, it's my experiences as a wrestler in cutting weight that has caused me to forever hate running.

So, if your I-pod battery runs out of juice, I suggest you borrow some other friend's playlist.  My angry music might seriously jeopardize your enthusiasm for running for quite some time.