I've always firmly believed cardio to be a concept designed as some practical joke in spite of human evolution. An industry of motion to bolster heart health and longevity lies in the sweat and fatigue of flailing your body around. To what end! (to a less crippling descent into old age, I know, I know, shut up.)
One spicy express lane to an early grave, so I've learned, is via stress. Stress, butthurt, and unresolved anger, as well as its travel-friendly component—harbored resentments. Together, they become an overly seasoned feast of dense, slow-digesting sludge that contains any number of ingredients that won't go down easily and won't come out pleasantly either. Should you indulge, even just to be "polite," you're likely to taste that meal again and again as it disagrees with you in varying levels of physical discomfort. Why ruin an evening at your own expense?
There is one effective method for relief that I know of, under the sound guidance of Atlanta-based rapper Unk: Walk It Out.
But because a lot has happened since 2006, plus I'm not trying to open myself up to any copyright infringement litigation or whatever, the current adaptation as I see fit to call it is: Rage Walk.
Rage Walking is a solo activity. Hey, I'm going on a rage walk. Be back in however much distance it takes for my rage to subside to an unbothered stroll. Or until I end up somewhere sufficiently distracting. It's as healthy a way to deal with whatever is upsetting you when you don't yet know how to deal with whatever is upsetting you as it is easily accessible for nearly everyone. And sometimes there is nothing to be done at all, and that is why we Rage Walk.
A Rage Walk is most satisfyingly done in shoes that make business sounds. Heels. Not spindly, tip-tap heels, none of that red-bottom bullshit—I mean, chunky, blocky, pavement-pounding heels (spurred, if you have). Your heels are your hammer and they must deliver swift and firm discipline to every nail in your path. The official dress code, while open to interpretation, is: brisk. You're going for full strides here.
A Rage Walk deserves an appropriate soundtrack. Do you have one? If not, make one now. Here's one can you use until you make your own. Name it whatever you want ("RAGE WALK" is appropriate). Pack it with whatever makes you feel invincible. Ideally, you will not require noise-canceling headphones because your choice in music and its sheer insistent volume will cancel out all distraction. (Plus, you still want to hear your shoes, remember?)
A Rage Walk requires no destination, but this is where the scenic route acts as an accomplice to your goal. A very busy, crowded area is not an ideal rage walk environment as you'll find yourself further vexed by pedestrian obstacles, and they will no doubt be vexed by you barrelling through them, all rude and hot-footed. Instead, send crumb-pecking birds in your wake scattering as you storm through them. Stupid birds.
Mutter aloud, if you feel moved to. Picture yourself in a music video about walking hard and taking no shit. Curse every name, spit on every grave. Do what you must to exorcise your rage into a trail of dying stardust behind you, and allow the breeze to sweep it away.
You should know that a significant byproduct of Rage Walking (or other rage-associated activities that could easily double as cardio) is its very effective and helpful way of offloading cortisol, adrenaline, and norephedrine that your brain started leaking the moment you decided to get pissed off. Fight by flight. Stress hormones are important response protocols, but if you don't fight them out or wiggle them through your bloodstream with intentional movements they tend to loiter, sabotaging your body's survival agenda (like sleeping and eating properly).
Your rage has little concern for your personal well-being. It's not to be trusted. It demands your undivided attention and harasses you with great urgency, begging indulgence for the sake of indulgence. As if it would then ever stick around to satisfy that need for validation—no. Just as you've given into its pleas, it will steal away in the night, leaving you to pick up the pieces in the wake of your consequences. Once you release the hounds of hell they only return once they've gored their way through every tender thing that bleeds, yourself included.
The Rage Walk™ has its limits. It's not a solution—it's a preventative measure designed to mitigate unnecessary destruction in the absence of any immediate, actionable solutions. Consider it displaced productivity for the sake of self-preservation. Those who cannot be saved from themselves can at least distance themselves from their weapons.
Sometimes you must complete a gesture through the arc of your sad and salty feelings, so you can make a soft landing on the sidelines of the battleground in your mind. (OK, I lied—that is the destination.) From there, you can zoom out, even a little bit, and see the fuzzy edges of your anger and your hurt. Know that it only touches as much as you let it. When you concentrate on what's beyond those edges, soon you will see how the world is so much more vast than this... this dumb thing.
There is so much ground you've yet to cover with many more pleasant feelings and intentions once you've trotted out all this unpleasantness. I'm not telling you how far or how long your Rage Walk ought to be. Take your time.
Either way, it's a great way to get steps in.