Running on Empty

I don’t think it is (much of) an exaggeration to say that the FuelBelt changed my life.  Before FuelBelt I carried around one of those contraptions with the single large plastic water bottle at the back, pressed up against my spine, sloshing and bouncing every which way.  My water bottle should not have more momentum than I do.  With the exception of those hats that hold the beer cans, I can’t think of a more vexing on-the-run hydration system design.  I also tried the camelback – perfectly fine for cycling, but it became a heat trapping, skin chafing torture device on a long run.  My endurance running career (fine, hobby) hung in the balance – how can one run far and long without an adequate thirst quenching system?  Would I forever be reduced to runs not exceeding 60-minutes in duration?  Then I discovered FuelBelt, with its nifty wee pockets holding four mini bottles.  The options!  Not only can I choose how much fluid to take on any given run (is this a two or four bottle day?), but I can bring an assortment of liquid indulgences along for the ride, err run.  Can you do that with a big floppy bottle?  No you can not.  I have one of the older models, before they made all sorts of fancy schmany (read unnecessary) changes.  It’s a classic.  An irreplaceable classic.
 
Sadly, my much used (and occasionally abused) FuelBelt has been slowly slipping away.  The signs were all there, but I refused to see them.  My belt continued to fit bigger even though I wasn’t getting smaller.  The velcro fastener at the end of the elasticized waistband could no longer adjust to keep the belt at waist level.  Layers of winter clothing helped disguise the slow loosening of the belt.  Mostly I pretended not to notice.  When the water bottles started torpedoing out of their little elastic pockets, all too often landing directly underneath my foot (try explaining to someone how you managed to trip over your own water bottle on the run) or smacking a less than impressed puppy in the tush, I blamed myself.  Maybe I didn’t put the bottle in the pocket correctly; I should pay more attention to what I’m doing.  Or I blamed winter.  Everyone knows elastics don’t work as well in winter.  It’s common knowledge.  In spring everything will be fine.  Sigh.  I  didn’t want to acknowledge the truth, the full extent of the loss of elasticity.  And sometimes everything worked fine.  The brief moments of rebound, of full functionality, gave me hope.  False hope, as it turns out.
 
In every elastic’s life there is that one moment, the final moment when it can’t hold on any longer. It’s the kid who’s gym shorts gave up in the middle of a dodge ball game, standing there wondering ‘why me’ as his shorts slide down to his ankles.  Every elastic has an expiration date.  For me and my FuelBelt that moment was 2K into the Around the Bay 30K Road Race.  That already less than snug elastic waistband lost all of its remaining powers of stretchiness.  As it flopped ridiculously around my hips, the weight of the Gatorade and gel packs created some sort of trampolining effect and my bottles started rocketing in every direction.  Remarkably, the little elastic pockets held on, so every time the bottle rocketed away from my body the elastic pocket pulled it back in.  I’m covered in bruises.  Little plastic bottle shaped bruises.  I had no choice but to clutch the sides of my belt to minimize the shock-waves and soldier on.  Running with your arms clutching a FuelBelt is surprisingly difficult.  Unexpectedly, a lot of that helpful running rhythm comes from the arms.  As I slowly consumed the Gatorade and gels the momentum lessened and the bottles stopped attacking me with such vigour, but by then the damage was done.  I may have internal bleeding. 

I often (nay repeatedly) thought about tossing my FuelBelt on the side of the road, but it seemed a poor tribute to those (probably toxic) bottles that have been my sidekicks on countless runs.  Instead I resolved to give my FuelBelt one last hurrah, one final race, before “sending it to live on a nice farm” with my dog Skipper.

Title Reference: Jackson Browne – Running on Empty. From the album Running on Empty. 1977.