I have an Around the Bay FuelBelt curse. I do not know what I did to deserve a cursing, but I can only imagine that the transgression was particularly bad. There is no other explanation. See evidence from 2009.
Yesterday I broke the cardinal rule of racing: do not try anything new on race day. I tried three new FuelBelt brand water bottles. I carry my own liquid during Around the Bay because the aid stations are “approximately every five kilometres”. This is neither accurate nor frequent enough for my
At 6 am I filled the three new bottles with lemon-lime Gatorade, packed my FuelBelt, and drove to the bay. As I got ready for the race the bottles felt strangely sticky and I assumed – wrongly, I’ve since learned- that I spilled some Gatorade in my sleep-deprived state of bottle filling. I am very apt to spill Gatorade or get distracted and overfill bottles, so this was not a conclusion without precedence. Also, I was worried about race day attire and did not give my FuelBelt the attention it needed. At least I got the what to wear part right. I cluelessly strapped on the belt and lined up behind the start banner.
At 3K (every 3K is to my liking) I grab Bottle 1 from its house on the front left for my first refreshing drink. Mysteriously, the bottle is empty. What happened to my lemon-lime Gatorade? I looked around, confused, as though I might find the precious neon electrolytes somewhere on the road. As the sticky liquid quickly seeped through my wicking layers I found the Gatorade. In my increasing damp shirt and tights. The entire contents drained all over me. Not only was I sticky mess, but I looked like I lemon-lime peed my pants. No, I am not that hardcore. To my relief Bottles 2 and 3 seemed reasonably intact, in that they still contained some (but not all) fluid. At 6K I attempted to drink from Bottle 2. Half went in my mouth, half dribbled down my shirt into my welcoming bra. Of course. Repeat at 9K with Bottle 3. As though I was drinking from a childish joke cup. Half in, half down my shirt, leaving an attractive lemon-lime bib around my neck.
Not one to let a lemon-lime leak throw me off my game, I stoically soldiered on. Upon successful completion of the race I hugged a friend and promptly adhered to him, my Gatorade forming some sort of superglue. That last part is a lie, but he did smell faintly of lime after. Before contaminating anyone else I dashed to the stadium washroom for a quick hooker bath to scrub away the remaining substance. And so ended my fourth run around the bay.
Title: Def Leppard – Pour Some Sugar On Me. 1987.