RIOT RUN v2 - Running music.

What came first—the rage or the need to run it off? I've been thinking about this while trying to survive this playlist, which opens with what I'm pretty sure is "Upside Down" and immediately makes you question everything about your pace, your form, your life choices. This is hardcore punk before it became a brand you could buy at Hot Topic. This is when punk meant something, even if what it meant was just controlled chaos at 200 BPM.

Here's what nobody tells you about running to early '80s hardcore: it doesn't match your stride, it CREATES your stride. Minor Threat's "Minor Threat" hits at track ten and suddenly you're not jogging anymore, you're fleeing something. Ian MacKaye recorded that in 1981 when he was 19 years old, straight edge before straight edge had a logo, and you can hear the Youth Crew hasn't formed yet—it's just kids who are furious about something they can't quite name. I've been that furious. Still am, some days. The difference is MacKaye channeled it into 46 seconds of perfect aggression. I channel it into a 5K I'll feel guilty about walking.

"Waiting Room" by Fugazi arrives like a breath you didn't know you needed. It's still Ian MacKaye, but it's 1988 now, post-Minor Threat, and the rage has gotten smarter, more patient. That bass line—Joe Lally's bass line—is what running should feel like: insistent, methodical, building toward something. Fugazi recorded Repeater at Inner Ear Studios with Ted Niceley, who understood that punk could be precise without losing its teeth. When this track hits around the halfway point, you realize you're not running away from anything. You're running toward clarity. You won't find it, obviously, but the illusion keeps you moving.

Top 5 reasons this playlist is the soundtrack to every bad decision I've made while running:

1. "Sailin' On" by Bad Brains makes you believe you can sprint forever. You can't. But for 90 glorious seconds, you're convinced.

2. "Myage" by Descendents is pop-punk before pop-punk became a punchline. Milo goes to college, writes about feelings, everyone acts like he invented vulnerability. He kind of did.

3. "Big Lizard" by The Dead Milkmen shouldn't work at mile three but it does. Absurdist punk that makes you laugh while gasping for air—that's a skill.

4. "Where Eagles Dare" closes this thing out and it's the Misfits at their horror-movie best. Glenn Danzig's vocals sound like he's chasing you. That's motivating, right?

5. "Knowledge" shows up as the 2007 remaster, which means someone cared enough about Operation Ivy to make them sound better 18 years later. That's hope, or delusion. Same thing, really.

What I keep coming back to is how this playlist refuses to let you settle. Hardcore punk was born out of kids who felt too much and had nowhere to put it except into two-minute explosions. That's running for me—too much in my head, no good way to process it, so I lace up and hope movement creates meaning. It doesn't, but sometimes between "Circles" and "Lights Out" I forget that for a while.

The thing about old school punk—and I mean Reagan-era, pre-internet, recorded-in-someone's-garage punk—is it understood urgency before urgency became a marketing term. These bands played like the cops were coming, like the venue was shutting down, like this was the last show ever. Every track feels that way. You're not running for fitness. You're running because standing still isn't an option.

Dick would tell you the exact pressing plant for every track on here. Barry would argue that Fugazi's too obvious a choice, which is how you know it's the right choice. Me? I'm just trying to make it through mile two without stopping, and this playlist is the only thing between me and quitting.

Somewhere around "Legion of Evil" by OFF!, I remembered why I started running in the first place: not to get faster or healthier or clearer-headed, but because some days you need to prove you can still finish something, even if it's just three miles to a soundtrack that understands fury better than therapy ever will.

See you at the Lakefront Trail. I'll be the one who looks like he's fleeing the scene of a crime.

Rob Gordon (Weekend Warrior)