Got My Swagger Back

For Christmas this year Mrs. B made me a running playlist on Spotify, which I finally had the opportunity to try last week when it was seven degrees and I had speedwork on the schedule. The logic being:

1. I only listen to music when I run on the treadmill, never outside
2. If it’s less than 20 degrees out, speedwork moves indoors to the treadmill – that’s the temperature under which my times suffer just enough to make me cranky and ruin the entire day

The details of the workout aren’t as important as the playlist, which is sassy and includes everything from Lil Wayne and Busta Rhymes to Britney and Beyonce. The real gem, however, is Swagga, by Excision and Datsik, which, if you’ve never heard it, sounds like Megatron having a root canal. It mechanizes your soul and incapacitates the glob of brain that would otherwise be consumed with the stress of seeing 10.0 in the mph display on the treadmill.

The first time it came on I accidently hooked the headphone cord with my elbow and dislodged my phone from the treadmill’s accessory cup, sending the phone tumbling to my feet and swaggering right off the belt. It shot into the elliptical behind me, making a sound like a fragile smartphone falling out of an airplane and colliding with an elliptical. Neither my phone nor the ellipticaller watching me run were harmed. I chalk that up to swagger magic.

Since my PR at Rehoboth, I really feel like I’m firing on all cylinders. Before my surgery when I would start to tire in a race, on the track or during a tempo, I would fade and there was nothing I could do about it. But in the last couple months I’ve found that I’ve got another gear – if I want to run faster, I just try harder. I guess that’s what healthy tendons do for you. Add to that a fistful of swagger, and you’ve got something to build on.

It was 23 degrees this morning so I was outside on the track for headlamp speedwork. The details of the workout aren’t as important as my attire which, I noticed as I got back into the light of the living, matched exquisitely.


I hadn’t planned it at all; I just put on whatever was on top. But this is just the kind of thing that happens once you get your swagger back.

Mrs B. noticed as well, though she used “matchy matchy” instead of “exquisite” and added that the picture wasn’t nearly “matchy matchy” enough. Her correction:


The point to all of this is: watch out Ocean Drive Marathon. (Can you believe that’s the point?)

Have a good weekend, guys.