EXCUSES

What came first - the excuse or the run you didn't take? I've got Top 5 excuses memorized, obviously. Too cold. Too tired. Too late. Too much work. The classic: I'll go tomorrow. Tomorrow's the day I become the person who just runs without negotiating with myself for twenty minutes first. Tomorrow never shows up.

This playlist knows you're full of it. Fourteen tracks that don't care about your reasons. "Le Risque" opens with psychedelic swirl that sounds like your brain making excuses, then "Shanghai" kicks in and suddenly you're moving before you've finished the internal debate. That's the trick - don't give yourself time to think. Press play, lace up while the song's already going, and you're out the door before the excuses catch up.

King Gizzard and Fontaines D.C. dominate the tracklist, which makes sense. Both bands traffic in relentless forward motion. Gizzard's been releasing seven albums a year or whatever impossible number they're up to now, touring constantly, genre-hopping like commitment is their job. Fontaines went from Dublin post-punk darlings to stadium-ready in about three albums. Neither band has time for excuses. Neither does this playlist.

"Starburster" hits at track three and it's Fontaines at their most unhinged - Grian Chatten's vocals sound like someone running from something they can't name. I've been that person. Running to clear my head, except it never works because your head runs with you. Every excuse is just fear wearing a reasonable mask. Too tired means I'm scared I can't do it. Too late means I'm scared I wasted the day already. The excuses protect you from finding out what happens when you just go.

The middle section builds into this neo-psychedelic/post-punk hybrid that shouldn't work for running but absolutely does. "Fashion Week" into "Walk Through Fire" into "SOMEBODY GRAB THE WHEEL" - it's chaotic, it's aggressive, it sounds like the internal monologue of someone who stopped listening to excuses. Whitey shows up with that egg punk energy, all sharp edges and refusal to smooth anything out. This isn't music that holds your hand. It shoves you forward.

Here's what I've learned: The first mile always lies to you. Your legs say this is impossible, your lungs say you're dying, your brain catalogs seventeen reasons to turn around. The playlist knows this. It front-loads the chaos, the dissonance, the stuff that matches your physical discomfort. You're supposed to feel bad. That's not a reason to stop, it's just information.

Around track nine, "Goin' to the Beach," something shifts. Not easier, just different. Your body stops arguing. The excuses lose their power because you're already doing the thing they said you couldn't do. The afrobeat rhythms kick in, that melodic house/techno thread that's been building, and suddenly you're not running away from excuses - you're running through them. They're still there. They're just quieter.

"Vanity Fair" and "Escalator Man" stretch out the groove. This is the section where you stop checking how much farther you have to go. Not because you're enjoying it - let's not get carried away - but because you've proven the excuses were wrong. You are doing this. Present tense. The anxiety about whether you could do it becomes irrelevant once you're already doing it.

"Holy Smokes" and "ULTRAVIOLET" build into this crescendo around track twelve and thirteen. The noise rock elements come forward, all feedback and intensity. This is what it feels like when you push through the wall. Not graceful. Not easy. Just loud and messy and forward. Every run has a moment where you think you can't, and then you do anyway, and the music doesn't celebrate that - it just matches the ugly reality of it.

"Bob Ross" closes it out. I don't know if that's the artist or the title but either way, it's perfect. Bob Ross made painting look easy because he did it constantly. No excuses, just happy accidents and finished paintings. Five thousand episodes or whatever. He just showed up and painted. The playlist ends and you've run farther than your excuses said you could. Tomorrow you'll have new excuses. The playlist will still know you're lying.