Diary of a Washed up Runner: Day 8 — 2/16/12, On Running & Hip Hop Hypemen

Posted: May 28, 2014 in Diary of a Washed Up Runner
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(*Author’s note: this is a new feature on Burnpoetry, chronicling my attempts to reconnect to my once-favorite sport of long distance running.  For the detailed explanation, click on this link.  I will periodically be retracing my steps and going back to my first attempt at this running-running diary and this is one of the first ever posts so I though we should continue from here.)

Distance: 2.16 Miles
Location: Treadmill, Urban Active Gym
Self-loathing (On a Scale of 1-Drake on Take Care): 8

Today was a rough go, as they say.  Who are “they”, you ask?  Guys that can run further than 2.16 miles, almost certainly.  Throughout the day I pounded down absurd amounts of water, tried to sit in my big bank-teller chair with more frequency than usual, and thought to myself, Hey, I think I’m ready to bump up to 3 miles when I get to the gym.

Then, much to my dismay, I hopped on the treadmill and my gung-ho was gung-gone.  Over the last few days of running I have made the all-important switch in musical choices.

Generally I have been listening to classic rock (*Author’s note: AC/DC and Guns ‘N Roses can fire up even the smallest fragments of momentum for me and get me hauling ass down the rubber road to nowhere at the right pace) and it has been a more-than-worthy companion.

The fatalistic, driving energy from songs sung by guys rock ‘n rolling their way towards mass, boozy extinction — as bands and, at times, as people altogether — resonates with me somehow on this quest of mine to rekindle an old spark of passion.

Today, though, there was no classic rock.  The last few times I have tried to pump myself by listening to rap music.  There’s a whole different vibe, when you step on the treadmill bumping Tech N9ne and Lil Wayne.  Suddenly I find myself swaggering towards the mechanical pathway to fitness, staring it down, and daring it to make a move.

This G-ed up moment. . . lasts about 48 seconds.  As soon as I find myself tottering along on the treadmill, sucking in wind like Fat Joe running stadium steps, I lose track of the ability to feel tough.  You tend to lose steam when you’re tired before the hype-man on the track has even finished his hyping.

(*Author’s note: I now present to you a brief one-act play, sponsored by bacon and Budweiser.)

I’m gonna own this today.  I feel good.  Here we go.

Chris hops on the treadmill and puts on his headphones.  We’re briefly allowed to hear.

Anonymous Rap Song
Yo, yo, yo. . .we’re taking over in this bitch!  It’s time for the greatest —

Chris’ Heart Rate
Uh-oh!  We might be in trouble on this one

Anonymous Rap Song
And can’t nobody. . .ever. . .stop. . .this. We the best!  Our team is too dope
and if you don’t like it than all the Haters out there, all the snitches, all the
dudes who are mildly disinterested in our movement?  All the dime piece
strippers who are shakin’ it to this song, and have a side job working as drug
hustlers and kingpins this is a dope new joint just for —

Chris looks down at the timer on the treadmill, breaking his silent promise to “not check that shit until at least the 3rd Pandora song.”

Chris’ Arterial Pathways

And. . .scene.

It’s not quite that bad, actually.  I can usually make it through at least a few of those songs, but sometimes that is honestly the way I feel.  Damn you, hypemen, for dragging out a song and making me feel like a complete failure.  I blame Flavor Flav.  I really do.



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