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Pop music is there to make us absent-mindedly nod our heads, we think, not speak to the part of us that we are afraid to look at in the mirror. But whether it is a particularly poignant line or an entire lyrical theme that gets us, when a manufactured pop song overcomes its sugary coating, it becomes the kind of song we listen to instead of just hearing.
So when it comes to running on a treadmill, it not only takes me forever to muster the lady-balls to get my ass on the machine, but I have to painstakingly craft the perfect playlist in order to keep my mind on the prize. Thus, I present to you, after much overanalysis, the definitive guide to timing your running playlist to the progressive mental stages of the athletically disinclined.