Category: Uncategorized

Review: The iFitness Hydration Belt (or: The Best Running Fanny Pack)

Posted on by kenwheaton in Uncategorized

If you see me out on a long-distance run–or even in some longer races–you’ll note that I’m running with what looks like a fanny pack. Non-runners may judge me for this. Non-runners can kiss my ass.

I used to mock these hydration belt setups. The first two times I trained for a marathon, I ran only with a handheld bottle. The first two times I trained for a marathon, I was an idiot. Not only did the bottle not hold enough water for any run longer than 10 miles, but as light as it was, it still tired out my arms. Seriously, even running with keys in your hands for more than six miles gets annoying pretty fast.

My first season with Team in Training, I picked up a Fuel Belt brand hydration belt. It had four bottles for fluid and a small pouch for money, credit card and, importantly, ID. Because if you’re out on a solo run and something lays you low — a heart-attack, a car, one of those little kids with those damned razor scooters — and you don’t have ID, then what?

Some people ask: “Hey, doesn’t that belt bother you?” Nope. Not really. I even ran with it in races because it was more convenient than dealing with the typical clusterfarg around the water tables.

But the Fuel Belt isn’t, shall we say, optimal. It rides sort of low, bounces around quite a bit and the pouch it comes with is pretty small. You can get additional pouches but they look goofier than the belt and none of them really seem big enough to hold a key item some folks like to run with — the modern smartphone, which has grown the size of a brick.

So Cara and I purchased the iFitness hydration belt (16 oz). I can’t say enough about this belt. It fits much better than the Fuel Belt — and this is for both men and women. (Cara had a Fuel Belt as well). This is partly due to material and partly due to construction. The waterproof pouch in front can hold everything you need–money, credit cards, i.d., keys, iPhone or HTC Evo-size phones and, quite possibly, a small child. It has two little loops built in for Gu packets (or whichever brand you prefer). And while I haven’t used it, it comes with a racing-bib holder that positions your bib right at crotch level.

All of this and the belt does not slip. It does not ride up. It does not ride down. It stays put. This is why we like it.

Beefs with the belt? The biggest beef is that it only comes with two eight-ounce water bottles. So I’m sort of back to not having as much hydration as I’d like. I’m going to order an additional bottle and clip and will report back to see if that bounces around or changes the performance of the belt. I’m also not crazy about the bottles themselves. Mine leak a little when I squeeze them. Cara’s bottles, however, don’t leak–so that might just be a fluke on my part. And it’s not like the Fuel Belt bottles never leaked either.

A Great Brooklyn Mystery Solved

Posted on by kenwheaton in Uncategorized

So I was halfway through my plate of Bucatini all’Amatriciana at Scottadito* in Park Slope when Cara, glancing out the window at the folks coming and going from the Park Slope Food Co-op next door, said something that reordered my world.

“That’s kind of a lame job,” she said, “walking people to their houses just so you can bring the shopping cart back to the store.”

I placed my fork on the table and tried not to choke. On my own laughter. At myself.

I’m sure my face turned red. Cara said, “What?”

I needed a moment.

“What?” she asked again.

“Woooooooooo, I’m a dumb-ass,” I said.

“What?”

So I explained. I’ve been living in Brooklyn for the better part of 12 years now and spent quite a bit of time in Park Slope. For the past year and a half, we’ve lived just a few blocks from the Park Slope Food Co-op and I’ve walked and run past the following scene: granola-yuppie-organo-hipster walking home with a shopping cart full of flax seed and hormone-free cabbages accompanied by an orange-vested co-op employee or volunteer or member or whatever the hell they are.

And until last Friday night, I could never figure out what the hell the employee was doing! True story.

I’d call it a blonde moment, but it would be an insult to blondes.

It bugged the shit out of me every single time. Why? Why two people? What was that volunteer doing? What did I think exactly was going on?

Numerous things.

At first, I thought it was a service for older folks. But then I noticed the employee rarely if ever was pushing the full cart of groceries. Old lady had to push it herself. I thought it was one of the weird, ridiculous rules they had: NO ONE SHALL WALK ALONE. I thought maybe they sent an employee to accompany you all the way home to make sure that you weren’t scalping free-range kale on the street or re-selling your quinoa to a guy who used to work for the Mossad.

I have a fertile imagination, I guess. Especially when it’s coupled with a big ripe target that I like to mock.

I’ve got a great joke for you: “Hey, how many Park Slope Food Co-op members does it take to push a shopping cart down the street?”

Two! Because Ken’s a dumbass. How else is that cart going to get back to the store?

*P.S. Go eat at Scottadito. That place is great.

An Anniversary

Posted on by kenwheaton in Uncategorized

Two years ago, the night of July 16 and heading into July 17, I found myself in Grant Street Dance Hall in Lafayette, Louisiana. I was there to hang out with my friend Toby, who was working that night. But he was working that night, so I was sort of propping up the bar, listening to the music, when in walked this curly-haired blonde hottie and I thought to myself, “MINE!”

And the rest is history.

Okay, so it wasn’t THAT easy. Even after somehow negotiating one of the more awkward first hours of knowing each other (long story in and of itself), there was another big issue. She lived in Louisiana and I lived in New York. And while she was very, very impressed with my rental car — a very manly, bright red VW Beetle — she wasn’t the kind of woman who was just going to let some dude follow her home that night. So we started texting and emailing and writing — ink on paper. Really. There were some visits. And, while neither of us can remember if there was an actual discussion about it, last summer she packed up her things, left a job and family and her own three-bedroom, two-bathroom house with central air and heat and a washer and dryer and moved into my palatial digs in Brooklyn.

And she brought the dogs.

We’ve had a lot of cocktails and beer. Quite a bit of brisket (seriously, the secret to a strong relationship is smoked beef).

Photo courtesy of Brisketlab, best brisket in New York.

Run a few races, including Cara’s first half-marathon (and first 10K and first 15K and, coming this fall, her first marathon).

We even went on our first major vacation together — to Fiji. That didn’t suck. But it did set the bar rather high.

Not bad for a first vacation.

Happy Anniversary, Cara! Thanks for making the move. Love you.

(All together now: Awwwwwwwww.)

To Infinity and Beyond, Etc.

Posted on by kenwheaton in Uncategorized

Look at this and hum “Eye of the Tiger” to yourself. Thank you.
At 7:34 last night, I reached my fundraising goal for Team in Training thanks to an extremely generous donation from Stephane Clare, aka The Real Dawn Summers. She just turned 25 again and must have gotten a lot of birthday money — as well as one of the best birthday presents a New England Patriots and Tom Brady fan could ever get (short of a chance to vanquish Giselle in a duel and then win his hand in marriage.) Seriously go read her birthday post to see what she got for her birthday. Even if–as a rational human being–you despise Tom Brady and the New England Patriots, you’ll find the post funny and touching.

So yes, I reached the goal of $2,350 on the nose.

But meeting some arbitrary goal is not what’s important here.
Continue reading “To Infinity and Beyond, Etc.” →

Puke and Perspective

Posted on by kenwheaton in Uncategorized

Not actual baby on the train.
I was thinking this week was off to a shitty start until something happened on the train this morning.

I’m standing there reading and I hear a kid crying. No biggie. But he starts crying again. So I look over. There’s a woman, a mother, standing with a baby strapped to her. The baby spits up. Blerrghh. White gloop flows out of the baby’s mouth, on the lady’s arm and clothes and bag and onto her other child who’s sitting on the subway seat in front of her.

He’s the one crying. And coughing. I think he’s gagging. And I might be doing both as well if someone–especially a younger sibling–was showering me with vomit.

The baby didn’t seem to mind at all. It’s the thing that amazes me about babies when they’re spitting up. And maybe it’s the difference between spitting up and throwing up. The white gloop–I’m assuming it was baby formula–was just coming up like there was no end and the baby wasn’t gagging or coughing or crying even. It was almost like a little vomit machine just doing its job–and doing it quite well.

I don’t know how much the woman fed this baby, but it just kept coming. And she was fresh out of napkins. And she was laughing. LAUGHING.

Now, I can’t tell if it was embarrassed laughter: Oh my god, my kid’s puking on my other kid and all these people are watching. I could just die. Or if it was maniacal laughter: Well, this is it. The last fucking straw. It is now time for me to get a gun and start shooting people. Or if it was just old-fashioned, what-a-life laughter: I’m not going to look back on this one day and laugh. Because I’m laughing now. I’m hard-core bitches!

A number of people rushed to assist her. I had nothing to offer, but luckily women just carry a shit-ton of paper towels, wet naps, Kleenex and the like in their purses. One woman even helped the older kid out, dabbing at the puke on his legs and shoes. So ultimately it was a nice little subway moment, New Yorkers helping other New Yorkers out.

But if you’re having a bad week, just remember: You could be a woman trying to get somewhere with two children, one puking all over the place and the other one crying.

Or you could be that kid, sitting there on the subway while baby puke just rains down all over you.

Coach Kenny and the Case of the Stomach Cramps

Posted on by kenwheaton in Uncategorized

Sometimes the coach must do what the trainee needs, not what the coach wants. This morning the coach really, really wanted to stay in bed. But Cara’s been struggling to get her motivation going AND she wanted to do hill runs in the park BUT runs at 5:30 and wasn’t sure if it was safe to go alone before the sun was completely up. So Coach Kenny dragged his ass out of bed a full two hours before he typically does (hell, let’s be honest: a full three and a half hours) to go running in the park.

Also, we have Book of Mormon tickets for this evening, so there was no way we could punk out and say, “Let’s run tonight” (and then just get home after work and watch Big Bang Theory reruns and feel smug because hey, at least we don’t run like Penny and Sheldon).


READ MORE