Exactly 200 years ago (in 1811-12) there was a working class revolution in England.  The mill workers (who'd, until that time, had important, secure, skilled jobs for centuries) were suddenly being "outsourced" due to the first vestiges of automation.  Mechanical looms were suddenly able to produce cheap, high-quality fabric in a fraction of the time compared to the mill workers.  This made cloth cheaper throughout the world (and, not incidentally, reinforced the need for American Slaves working in the cotton fields).

In an effort to protect their jobs, the mill workers adopted the sponsorship of the legendary Ned Ludd (...an imaginary folk hero known to protect the common man; much like Robin Hood).  They called themselves Luddites.
Luddites argued that progress had come too far, too fast; that it was time to, literally, stop progress in its' tracks.  To paraphrase the mission statement of a famous American conservative magazine; "To stand athwart history, yelling 'stop!'"  They trashed mills, they burned looms, they gave impassioned speeches and killed any who opposed them.  As with most labor disputes, the issue was not about efficiency, or fairness; it was about protecting jobs (even at the cost of society at large).
Eventually, the movement fell into absurdity, and today the term "Luddite" labels someone as a flat-earther, as an opponent to progress.

My children have never known a world without computers.  They traverse their little domains with the aid of laptops and smartphones and MP3's and text and skype and facebook and youtube and twitter and... well, whatever Steve Jobs has bequeathed to us.

I understand technology.
Hell, I utilize more than my fair share of technology.  I'm pretty good at this stuff.
And yet.

I understand the luddites. My daughter has the disturbing ability to look me in the face and conduct a conversation while, simultaneously, carrying on a texted conversation via a phone in her pocket (...and never even looking at the screen).
I have sent, perhaps 100 text messages in my life.  And, when I choose to send a text, (unlike my daughter), it has capitalization, punctuation and, well, a thought process behind it.

I have, once again this year, re-read the Federalist Papers and I am struck, as always, with the use of language.  Each sentence is crystalline in its' structure; well-thought-out and poetic.  Not once did Hamilton or Madison or Jay revert to a single LMAO or WTF.  I am often left to wonder if we might well be better off, in the long-run, to revert to quill pens and parchment.

That said, I spend a large part of each day running or swimming or biking.  While I enjoy the solitude, there is a disturbing claustrophobia to hearing nothing but your own breathing for hours at a time.  It's much like listening to the final 20 minutes of "2001 A Space Odyssey" without the accompanying visual input.

To alleviate this monotony, I utilize a tiny little MP3 Player that I clip to my waist.  It is the approximate size of a large postage stamp with a similar weight.  It has a 4GB memory.   Ten years ago, it would have been looked at as a small miracle, today it is commonplace. More than once, I have washed my running shorts with the clip still attached; no damage.  It costs less than ten dollars and I buy them in lots of 3 or 4 at a time.
This little wonder allows me to pack approximately 20 hours of music onto my waist prior to each trip.  

Yet herein lies the rub:  1.)  I am embarrassed by my crass embrace of the technology and (more importantly) 2.)  I am ashamed of my musical choices.

To paraphrase the old cliche':  Exercise music is to music as Exercise clothing is to clothing.  Similar but different.
Just as I would be embarrassed (on many levels) if I were to have to wear a sleeveless UnderArmor t-shirt to visit my clients,  I would be equally distraught to have anyone construe my tastes in exercise music with my tastes in music.
I live in mortal fear that, someday, I will be struck by a car during one of my runs (...or rides).  I live with the knowledge that the paramedic will look down on my crumpled body and say "Don't worry!  We can save him!" and then slowly remove the ear buds from my head, only then to be confronted with the distant strains from "Kung Foo Fighting."
He will slowly shake his head and say "It's better that we let him die...."

Exercise Music is utilitarian.  It is designed to simply present a cadence, a distraction from the exertion of the body.  It is to this end that I cram my MP3 player with hours of music that would embarrass my children and make my wife blush.
For those that might be interested in compiling a list of similar tunes, my suggestions for sources would be as follows:

70's Disco Music.  Sadly this music (while artistically hideous) comes with an ample backbeat that makes exercise easier.
Gay Music.  This is (largely) a subset of the above category.  Again, the beat helps to maintain a strong cadence.  ...Just don't spend too much time scrutinizing the lyrics to anything by Frankie Goes To Hollywood or Lou Reed.
Movie Themes.  Virtually all Movie Themes are inspiring.  Anything by John Williams or Bill Conti or Eric Korngold or Jerry Goldsmith would serve to raise the dead and make the blind see.  Yo! Adrian!  I'm runnin!
Villain Themes.  Again, this is a subset of the above category.  Vader, Megatron, Voldemort, Sauron, Lechter; ...all Bad Guys have cool, menacing theme songs.
Rap.  While I invariably break into hives at anything "Rap" or "HipHop" or "Urban," I must admit that the mindless "thump" and the needlessly hostile lyrics serve as subliminal adrenaline sources.  My sons brag to their friends that their Dad is the one in a thousand who can identify both the song and the artist behind the latest Chrysler commercials.  And sadly, neither Perry Como nor Andy Williams have recorded their versions of "Let the Bodies Hit The Floor!" or "Mama Said Knock You Out!"   Just an obsevation.
Cheesy 70's TV Themes.   Mike Post, Alan Sylvestri, et. al.  Many of these themes evoke a certain nostalgic energy.  It makes me feel like driving around in a red Ferrari wearing my Detroit Tigers baseball hat.
Showtunes.  Yes, Showtunes, dammit!  Much of this music is dance-derived and alot of it can be inspiring.  ...and, no, this is not a repeat of category 2.
The Long Version of Anything.  Virtually all long-versions are maintained with extensive rhythms and mindless repetition.  To wit; "Ina Gadda Da Vida" or "Sweet Home Alabama."
A limited number of Ballads.  Much Sinatra (although this may simply be a symptom of my weakness for Ol' Blue Eyes) as well as a few C&W songs.  Frank's "Here's to the Winners" or Tim McGraw's "Live Like You were Dyin" often force me to run with tears in my eyes.
Anthems.  Anthems are more prevelant in Europe where they are utilized to motivate Soccer Clubs.  Typically, they are simple, repetitious and invite a stadium-rocking stomp. They often involve a "Children's Chorus" which invites anyone to sing along.  I must assume that it's only a matter of time before they become ubiquietous in the NFL.  Songs like Right Said Fred's "Stand Up" or (the legendary) "Leave the Kid's Alone" by Pink Floyd are excellent examples.
And finally...
The Spoken Word.  Often, I will listen to snippets of speeches or movie scenes that can transport me to a place where pain is forgotten and excellence is the norm; Shakespeare's "Band of Brothers" speech from Henry V, James Earl Jones "Baseball" speech from Field of Dreams, Mel Gibson's "Freedom" speech from Braveheart.  "The spoken word can maketh the soul to soar..."

So, the next time you see one of my pathetic brethren jogging mindlessly with a pair of earbuds deflecting the world at large, cut him some slack.  He's probably envisioning himself mounting the steps of The Art Museum of Philadelphia (two at a time) both fists raised to the heavens.

Gonna Fly Now.