Look, I need to tell you something about running in March. It's not about the weather clearing up or spring motivation or whatever lie Runner's World is selling this month. March is the month where you realize winter didn't kill you, but it didn't make you stronger either. You're just... here. Still running. Still trying to figure things out. Still not figuring them out.
This playlist showed up like a mixtape I didn't make but needed anyway. Nine tracks, thirty minutes, and the kind of progression that makes you wonder if someone's been watching you run the same emotional loop for the past however many years.
"You Don't Get Me High Anymore" opens it. Phantogram, 2016, that Three album where they got darker and more self-aware. Sarah Barthel's voice doing that thing where she sounds detached and devastated at the same time. I've started runs with worse truths. The first mile always lies to you—tells you this will be easy, you've got this handled. Then reality hits around the half-mile mark and you remember why you stopped doing this for three weeks.
Mother Mother's "It's Alright" comes in second, and it's the exact kind of reassurance that makes you more anxious. "It's alright, it's okay" sung with that manic indie energy that suggests it's neither alright nor okay but we're committed to the bit now. Then Wolf Alice lands with "Moaning Lisa Smile," and suddenly we're in UK indie territory, Ellie Rowsell doing that gorgeous shift from whisper to roar that made My Love Is Cool one of those albums people discover three years late and act like they found it first.
The middle section is where this playlist stops being polite. Joywave's "Destruction" into Sleigh Bells' "Locust Laced"—that's the sequence that doesn't care if you're ready. Derek Miller's guitar production on Sleigh Bells has always sounded like speakers blowing out on purpose, like the distortion IS the point. You either love it or you're wrong. Barry would fight me on that. He'd lose.
Santigold's "Disparate Youth" at track six is the Wall Breaker moment, and we'll get to why in a second, but first acknowledge that this song came out in 2012 when everyone was trying to figure out what indie pop could sound like with actual hooks. Switch's production gave Santi space to do that talk-sing thing that sounds effortless but isn't. "We could be the generation who learns to live on next to nothing" hits different when you're running past your thirties wondering when the plan kicks in.
The final stretch—Ladyhawke, Lucius, The Breeders—is basically a masterclass in women who made indie rock without asking permission. "Cannonball" closes it, because obviously. Kim Deal in 1993, Steve Albini recording live to tape at track + half-inch, one of those lightning-in-a-bottle sessions where the sloppiness is what makes it perfect. It's been on every indie playlist for thirty years for a reason. Some songs just win.
Here's what I figured out around mile two: this isn't a winter running playlist. Winter's already over. March is that in-between space where you're not cold enough to have an excuse but not warm enough to feel hopeful. These nine tracks aren't about pushing through—they're about showing up when showing up doesn't fix anything.
You run away from things or toward things. Never just for fitness. This playlist knows that. Riot grrrl energy mixed with indie introspection mixed with the kind of alternative rock that remembers when "alternative" meant something. It's the musical equivalent of running the Lakefront Trail in March wind, wondering if you're clearing your head or just avoiding going home.
Top 5 songs that sound like March feels: "You Don't Get Me High Anymore" because nostalgia stops working eventually. "Moaning Lisa Smile" because quiet rage is still rage. "Locust Laced" because sometimes you need speakers to blow out. "Disparate Youth" because optimism in minor keys is the only honest kind. "Cannonball" because some things are perfect and broken at the same time.
I'm not saying this playlist will make your run easier. It won't. The first mile still lies. Your legs still hurt around minute eighteen. But for thirty minutes, you get to run with people who made music that sounds like trying matters even when it doesn't work. That's worth lacing up for.
