For sale: Fuel belt, almost new

Got up early to run 7 miles before heading into town to watch a women's rugby game. For two years I have been convinced that I would not like running with a fuel belt -- a huge elastic thing with pockets for several water bottles. But, I also spent 30 years thinking that I would not like running, so I picked up a fuel belt last weekend at the marathon expo and gave it shot on this run.

Confirmed: I do not like running with a fuel belt.

Here's the thing: it's elastic. Elastic contracts and worms its it way to the smallest shape it can't get itself into. On a human body, this is what people in the clothing industry call the "natural waist." About 1/2 mile into the run I seriously considered returning home, but then I'd have to rechart my course to get the right mileage and I figured I should give it a more thorough road test.

For about five yards, the fuel belt was comfortably below the waistline, and just that small amount of running was enough for the fuel belt to creep up until it was hanging loosely around my middle. As images of Jessica-Simpson-in-Mom-Jeans flashed through my head, I thought, "Ok, big deal. Just see if it's comfortable. Hydration is more improtant than style, sort of."

I gave it a try, but it felt running with one of those old school life preservers encircling me. The more water I drank from the bottles, the more I had to rejigger the calculation of keeping the fuel belt in place. Next weekend, I'm going back to using a CamelBak.

Fake it till you make it

Sunday was the Vermont City Marathon, the race I gamely signed up for last November 1st, the day that registration opened. I was scheduled to run 6 miles, and I had friends who running so I figured, why not put on the bib and run the beginning of the race?

I have to say, race weekend is much more relaxing when you're not racing. I went to the Expo on Friday afternoon to pick up my race packet, peruse the vendors and take note of everyone else's jitters. Saturday passed without much concern, some gardening, some decent attempts at eating nutritious meals. I intentionally did not fasten the timing chip to my shoe to avoid a "DNF" next to my name. Actually, I'm not sure if DNFs appear in the paper the next day, but all the same -- I'd rather register a NIF, "No Intention to Finish." I packed up a small bag, laid out my race clothes, set the alarm clock -- all normal pre-race stuff, but without anxiety or wonderment about how the day would unfold. I wonder if it's possible to channel this feeling as a zen-like state in future races?

Race day was cool and rainy, but not bad for running just a little too soggy. (All due credit to the real racers: it turned from soggy to pretty darn hot and sunny by midday, and probably not fun.) I squeezed myself in among the 4:30 pace group and spent the time before the gun scanning feet for timing chips. How many people around me are really running, and how many are out for just a few miles? I wanted to know. I was behind one woman who wore an astonishing amount of makeup and jewelry but I could get a look at her bib or her shoes. I was relieved when she waved to someone and the tell-tale bracelet of a relay team was on her wrist. I don't remember feeling this judgemental of other runners when I was really intending to run the race.

Ok, so I ran the first relay leg (3.1 miles) and ran the next three miles, all at pretty good pace for me (11:00 miles.) Per Jessica's instructions, I did not overextend myself and risk injury, I slowed to walk/jog and reeled in a few more miles till I was at the second relay exchange zone, conveniently close to where I could drop out of the race and meet up with friends around Mile 9.

The relay zones are very carefully organized and managed: the marathoners are channeled in one direction so as not to be slowed or interfered with, and the relay runners are directed into a scene of mass chaos where they hope to find their teammates and handoff their timing chip. I was wearing a marathon bib, but I wanted to get out of the marathoners' way so I headed into the relay lane. The race volunteers did their jobs, bless their hearts, by trying to get me back into the marathoners' lane. I kept waving them off, and they kept trying to steer me to the left. I was trying to be inconspicuous, but in fact drew more attention from those eagle-eyed volunteers than I ever expected:

Volunteer: "You want to move over to this lane, as soon you're able."
Me: "No it's ok - I'm fine."
Volunteer: "Thru runners over this way!" (Boisterous pointing)
Me: "Really, it's ok - I'm dropping out here."
Volunteer: "Are you ok? Do you need assistance?!"

Now, I'm trying to not disrupt anyone's path, and I'm trying to quietly drop out, and now I have visions of this earnest volunteer summoning the medical team and the staff of the nearby Police Department. And how do I quickly communicate that there's nothing to see hear without being snippy of dramatic? I smiled and waved and cheerfully told, "Everything's great, I'm done here!" He gave me a funny look as if to say, 'Do you get what's going on here today?' Why yes I do get it: RunVermont and 30,000 spectators came out to watch me run a 15K, and even provided water tables with Gatorade.

Thank you, Burlington!

2 weeks - no Rice Krispies treats

Not that I'm counting, but I went two weeks without eating a Rice Krispies treat for breakfast. I celebrated by eating a Rice Krispies treat with my lunch.

My favorite local store, Keeler's Bay Variety, is run by a really nice family and they make really delicious Rice Krispies treats. These are not factory packaged, air-sealed hard tack knock-offs. These are soft, home-made generously large treats lovingly wrapped in cellophane and stacked in a pyramid no one can resist.

I'm not sure how I lived into my 30s without realizing how perfect a well-made Rice Krispie treat tastes with a good cup of coffee, but once that discovery was made I found it very, very difficult to stop for morning coffee and pass up those sweet golden bundles by the cash register.

But now, I must resist. Jess, my training guru, said making the RKTs an occasional reward is ok, and that I didn't need to quit cold turkey. (She stopped herself from suggesting turkey is a healthier choice than empty calories caked in marshmellows.)

Oh, wretched weather!

The goal for this day was to run to six miles. When you on this side of six miles -- the side where you haven't run all winter, where three miles is just slightly uncomfortable, where you have to convince yourself a la Barack Obama that "Yes You Can!" -- you fight the urge to not run, to give in, to find a good reason to put it off.

I struggled only mildly with those feelings most of the morning, because really I knew that I would do the run before the day was over, I just needed to feel the moment was right before I would head out the door. I also needed to feel that the rigor mortis in my legs due to my first attempt at strength training the day before might loosen up a bit. (I worked with a deceptively nice and encouraging trainer named Michele who didn't warn that I was be a cripple the morning after working with her for a mere 45 minutes.)

Back to my intuitive decision-making process about when to run: my intuition stinks. The sunny/overcast morning passed while I dawdled and delayed, and by midday the sputters of rain turned to full downpour. Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn. Why did I procrastinate? I waited for the torrents to ease up and then forced myself out the door. I ran three miles to the ferry dock on the opposite side of the island, took a long stretch break and examined some informative tourist brochures, then ran back.

As always, ran is no bother once you're out running, it just makes you not want to start. Similarly, when you are that side of six miles -- when you can look at the "6" on your training calendar and not feel doubt and dread -- you feel pretty darn good.

It's a do over!

Let's just start by acknowledging that I fully abandoned training for the 2009 Vermont City Marathon in February. I got off to a slow start in January and by late February I lost too much time to back in the groove. I tried to assuage the slacker-schlub feelings by registering for -- and then not running -- several shorter races, which reinforced the slovenly feeling of sinking into my comfy couch, never to get up and exercise again.

Around that time I was reading a lot of Runner's World with a desperate m.o. of “think it, do it.” In their annual list of must-do marathons, I noticed the Marathon de Montreal among their list of top choices, and I registered immediately. Boo-yah, time to get off the couch!

I’ve hired a trainer to map out a plan and keep me in line. I bought a new pair of Saucony’s (sparkly white and light blue, very nice). I went to the grocery store to buy fruits and vegetables. I dug out my heart rate monitor from the back of my closet. I’ve done pretty much everything one can do to train, short of…running.

So, I’m giving the recent failed attempts at training the old Etch-A-Sketch full erase and starting over. Today, May 11, marks Week 1, Day 1 and I’m heading out to run 3 miles.