*   *   *

At first I thought this week’s topic pick “courage” was going to be the easiest topic ever. After all, I’m totally courageous! I possess so much courage that I….well I…I definitely did…

Wait.

Here I am, with this deliciously blank page in front of me, all ready to talk about the most courageous thing I have ever done. Certainly it was the act of picking up my life on the east coast and moving to California, right? I thought so. But the more I really consider it, the less courageous it seems. I mean, we left what basically amounted to a crappy life, for a really good life. Bad weather for good. A house that was a money pit to a home we love. A 9-to-5 commute to the office for a flexible-hours home office. Frozen peas for Farmers Markets.  You get the picture. We moved somewhere that basically made it easier for us to live. Big freaking whoop.

Going somewhere that’s easier for me to be happy might be considered efficacious, or even adventurous. But not courageous. A “courageous” move for me might have been driving to Alaska in January or relocating to a foreign country that speaks a different language. That would take some courage. And also some major survival skills that I don’t happen to possess. But I moved to the land of beaches and palm trees. I mean, come on. Easy-peasy.

So what’s so courageous about moving to California? The fact that we cashed in our life savings and drove across the country? Nah, we were lucky to have the money so readily available to us. Most people don’t have that. Besides, we both have jobs that we can do just about anywhere so there will always be more money.

Is it because we left all of our friends and family behind? In this hyper social-networking day and age when practically everyone you know is a text message, Skype call, Facebook post or nights-and-weekends phone call away, that’s hardly brave. Also, moving to a different state is pretty much as rare as a penny. And moving to California is even less rare…I mean, I can’t remember the last time I even met a native Californian. Everyone ends up here.

In all reality, this relocation wasn’t courageous, it was just the fulfillment of a longtime personal desire. Nothing a little gumption and some cash flow can’t handle.

So what makes me think I’m such a courageous person?

Am I courageous because of all the times I’ve spoken my mind instead of bowing down to people who have wronged me? Because I went to school for art instead of something “practical” or because I ended a bad relationship when I was scared to do it? Am I courageous because I’ve run an ultramarathon? Because I run even when people call me fat? Does it take courage to forgive and move on from your shitty childhood? A home you don’t want anymore? An unhealthy friendship?

What makes me assume that anything I do is so singularly amazing? I mean, I’m not exactly slaying dragons or saving kittens from burning buildings in my spare time, so what is so special and courageous about who I am and what I do with my life? What makes me such a fucking hero?

And why am I always questioning myself?

Well, maybe that’s just it: questioning. Maybe there’s something to be said about that guy saving kittens from burning buildings in his spare time. Most people would say that’s a courageous act, but when you call him a hero he’ll scoff and say he was just doing the right thing. Maybe courage isn’t something you recognize on a day to day basis. Maybe it’s not something you can see and pat yourself on the back for doing. Courageous people are the ones always asking themselves the important questions, and answering with honesty instead of bullshit. Maybe courage is about admitting that you’re not a hero just because you packed your shit into a car and moved, bought a house and raised 2.3 kids, or because you lived past 30 without bleaching your hair.

Courageous people do. They act. They think critically. They accept mountainous challenges. They problem solve. They don’t ask for help they could do without. They do things that are against the norm. Courageous people are the ones who just do what needs to get done. Not for accolades. Not for hero status. And the most courageous people will probably never consider themselves so, because they were just doing the right thing.

So I’ll just end by saying I’d love to be courageous someday. But I’ll probably never move to France, so if I were you I wouldn’t hold my breath.

Related articles

• Courage {Prompted} (riverramblings.wordpress.com)

I was exceptionally grateful for another chance to test some of Skora’s much-anticipated offerings this year. Last fall I tested the FORM. Overall, I liked the shoe, and I gave it a fairly good review. It was made of soft and pliable leather, which was unexpectedly comfortable, even without socks. I wore it to a few road races and I liked the extra bit of cushion in the sole, relative to my other road shoes. It was a bit narrow for my taste though, and I found it to be a little stuffy and not great at absorbing moisture. For these reasons, and admittedly because of the color (white – not my personal favorite) the Skora FORM shoe ended up hanging out in my closet a lot, while my other road shoes got more wear.

Well, this didn’t happen when it came to the CORE.

Good Looks and Inner Beauty

The CORE is just so easy to love, folks. The biggest reason why? This time around they adjusted the last so it’s on a much wider platform. Now we’re talking an exceptionally cozy, slipper-like fit, similar to what VIVOBAREFOOT is famous for, though maybe not quite as wide. The CORE is also made of the same super-soft goat’s leather as the FORM but with much larger vent holes in the upper, as well as an inner layer of absorbent mesh (i.e. no more cow skin sticking to my foot), which is enough to keep my piggies from overheating.

I love the CORE shoe because it fits exactly how you want a shoe to fit: like it belongs on your foot. The first time I put it on, the CORE felt like it had been broken in for months. No bull. (Is that a goat-leather joke? I can’t tell). And that, my friends, is the beauty of  – and quite possibly the best reason for – a running shoe upper made of leather. You just don’t get that same feeling with athletic mesh.

Skora made a few other updates to this shoe, one of them being a drastic improvement on the asymmetrical lacing system (which is found on both of the new models, CORE and PHASE). By widening the lacing significantly and then totally reversing it so the tongue “burrito” faces inward rather than out, the pinky-toe-rubbing that I experienced with the corner seams (and with all shoes that use a similar tongue design) has vanished. Dig it. They put a lot more reflective material on this shoe too, which is really a plus for night runs when you forget to wear a brightly colored outfit. The available colorways are rad, too – very wearable. I really dig the bluish-charcoal-gray, teal and purple in my pair. I didn’t get to test the PHASE, but this time around the non-leather option is looking a lot more like the leather one, with three bright and fantastic colorways, but with mesh fabric and sold for a slightly lower price.

Performance

I think it’s pertinent to point out here the thing I noticed most about this shoe while running in it: and that would be nothing. Absolutely, gloriously nothing. In my personal experience, any running shoe that lets me completely forget about its presence is the best kind of running shoe there is. After all, that’s sort of the point, right? Or at least it should be. This shoe fits my foot rather perfectly, and I would be hard-pressed to think of a road shoe I’ve tried that I like better. That’s right, I said it.

The CORE is just absolutely my favorite road shoe right now. It balances lightness, comfort and road protection exceptionally well. The shoe weighs almost the same as the old FORM, but seems  a lot lighter because of the more lightweight leather/mesh combo upper. The stack height is 2mm lower in the new CORE as well, making the sole roughly 1000x more flexible. (Sidenote: even more flexible with the insole taken out, which I always do – I found the extra cushioning unnecessary and would rather the extra foot space without them.) The more open-width design really makes this shoe great for me. I’ve loved it so much that it’s gone with me for many miles, and it’s been my choice for recent road half marathons and training.

I’ve even taken the CORE out to a few trail runs because…well, just because. The CORE works fine over easy packed-dirt trails and protects my feet pretty well on the rockier ones, but I find it slides too much on the steeper hills I often find myself running on. The soles are just too flat and not grippy enough. But I know this shoe is made for roads. I’m definitely looking forward to Skora coming out with something more trail-friendly for the tougher terrain.

The Goldilocks Effect

So final note on the new CORE versus the original FORM. My first thought after reveling in the happy roomy fit of the CORE was this: so the last is nice and wide, but is it too wide? The thing is, I write all my reviews from the standpoint of someone whose feet are naturally wider than average and have only gotten wider since taking up minimalist running. I’m biased. In my world, every running shoe should be made with an insanely wide last so that my toes can move around and not feel bound up by my shoe. But a lot of people have average to narrow feet and that can mean the opposite problem: a shoe that’s too wide and feels huge. Personally, I think that the CORE is the Goldilocks of minimalist shoe lasts: it’s not too narrow (think NB Minimus Road 00) and not extremely wide (think VIVO Lucy Lite).

This photo shows the 0.15″ width difference between last year’s FORM and this year’s CORE, which has made all the difference.

That said, I would probably recommend that if you normally find your feet are quite long and narrow, the FORM may be a better shoe for you. Although I’ve illustrated several differences between the two models, I believe the fundamentals are still similar enough that going with the earlier model won’t have you missing out on a whole lot.

And for the rest of you, I can’t think of any reason not to love the FORM, except maybe that you’ll find them so beautiful you’ll have a hard time wearing them somewhere dirty. No worries though, they’re actually just as machine washable as your regular mesh running shoes – and they’ll probably last even longer. Happy Running!

Related articles

• Review: Skora FORM (barefoot-monologues.com)
• Review: Merrell Vapor Glove (barefoot-monologues.com)
• The Skora Phase Breakdown! (thepadawanrunner.com)

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I hear it all the time, all over the meme-sphere: live your life with no regrets. I have no regrets in my life…blah blah blah. I call bullshit. I have regrets. And I’m glad for them, too. If I never regretted my shittiest moments, I’d be a total asshole today.

I regret my 4^th grade antics of pulling Angela Kershner’s hair until she stopped being my best friend. It taught me about respect.

I regret trying to be like other people. It taught me the importance of individuality.

I regret relying on people who kept letting me down. It taught me about self-sufficiency.

I regret calling my elementary school friends “nerds,” to earn respect from the popular girls. It taught me the value of loyalty.

I regret leaving in the middle of high school cheering tryouts Sophomore year. It taught me about courage.

I regret objectifying myself so much to win attention from boys in college. It taught me about dignity.

I regret smoking. It taught me to respect my body.

I regret staying in the wrong relationship for too long. It taught me about moving on.

I regret apologizing too much. It taught me about standing my ground.

I regret taking part in some of my biggest, stupidest arguments. They taught me about resignation.

I regret becoming a homeowner five years ago. It taught me about my need for freedom.

I regret being a complainer. It taught me about appreciation.

I regret being oblivious to the beauty of nature most of my life. It taught me about humility.

I don’t regret all of my mistakes – sometimes it’s true, the thing itself is the lesson and therefore not really a mistake. But other times, regret is the quiet apology to yourself, the one that happens inside your head, late at night when things are quiet. Regret is a little nugget of wisdom for next time around. You can learn a lot from the positive moments in your life, for sure. But if you fail to gain the knowledge from your worst moments too, the ones you so very much wish never had happened, then you’ll always remain oblivious to the deepest lessons life is giving you.

Related articles

• Regret {Prompted} (riverramblings.wordpress.com)

*   *   *

Protect. Protection.

Protection can mean so many different things. Have so many connotations. It can be real or imagined. It can be beneficial
or it can be detrimental. It all depends on how you picture it.

Protection can mean a way to stay safe from inclement weather.

Or even good weather.

Too much protection can sometimes make you soft.

Or keep you from enjoying life.

Sometimes protection is an illusion.

Or a down-right lie.

And all too often, protection costs a lot more than it’s worth.

The illusion of protection can sometimes even cost you your life.

Protection can assist you with your best (and worst) life decisions.

Some protections are considered your right.

Some protections take away your rights.

Usually, your protectors are the good guys.

But they can be bad guys, too.

But more often than not, your best friend is the greatest protection you’ll ever have.

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• Protect {Prompted} (riverramblings.wordpress.com)

You know that quote “The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry”? Well, that’s a really great excuse for the person who actually plans accordingly for distance races. Clearly, that person is not me.

I signed up for the La Jolla Half Marathon because I ran the Carlsbad Half Marathon back in January. I realize that makes no sense yet, bear with me. The Carlsbad Half Marathon is race #1 of a Triple Crown series, so I decided to just do the whole thing and earn the extra medal (yes, I got suckered in to running three races just for a damn medal, get over it). And considering the fact that a two month running hiatus prior to Carlsbad yielded my worst half marathon finish time ever (even though I had a ridiculously great time running it), I promised myself that I would prepare, train and most importantly of all, plan for La Jolla. I even promised myself a half marathon PR, since it’s probably about time I work a little harder and start breaking 2:30.

Makes sense, right? So what is it that they say about the best laid promises of mice and men?

You probably don’t have to strain much to guess that I didn’t train for this race, and that I didn’t PR, either.  As much as I have been tearing up the trails and climbing insane hills for the past several months with some great people, my distance training has gone completely awry. And by awry I mean that between Carlsbad and La Jolla, I only ran three long runs, ever. Okay, two. And by long runs I mean only one of them was over ten miles. And it was barely squeezed in between breakfast plans and a visit to the Safari Park (which, honestly, was way more fun), just two weeks before the race.

Aside from the non-existent training, I planned my route to this point-to-point logistical nightmare of a race only two days beforehand. I sent a friend to pick up my bib. I drank almost no water the day before, and sat in the sun all afternoon. I picked my race outfit by smelling what was clean rather than washing what I actually wanted to wear. I invited myself to stay at my friend Laura’s house the night before, with exceptionally short notice. I forgot to buy gels and bananas for pre- and during-race fuel. I didn’t eat any breakfast, even though I’d managed to pack a granola bar. On the morning of the race, surrounded by four bright-eyed and well-organized racing buddies, I was the most unprepared. None of those things made me feel nervous or guilty however, and that may be the worst part of it all. But I figure that maybe by admitting all of this to you in a super-adorable way, my lack of motivation will somehow become more forgivable.

I’ll give you some time to mull that over while I quit babbling on and talk about the actual race.

The La Jolla half marathon happened on a perfect day for SoCal racing. And I add the SoCal part because the perfect day of all for racing is about twenty degrees cooler than it ever gets in SoCal, so I’ll take 62 degrees and overcast. At least it wasn’t humid, as they say. And the gorgeous scenery: palm trees, sand and ocean views…forget about it. You can’t ask for better. I was just glad that this was only a half marathon race and not also a full, that way I didn’t have to feel like one of the jerks only putting in half the effort for the day. After waiting in stellar traffic to park and emptying our bladders in the even more stellar porta-johns, Laura and I lined up at the very back of the starting line with the old ladies in walkers while the other three girls we came with filtered in farther up. I love standing at the back of the start line, though, because there’s a greater chance of passing a few people on my way to the finish.

Me and my hash lady friends, taking photos at the porta-johns in order to take our minds off our screaming bladders.

A quick aside on the whole passing people thing. While I was running the race I was thinking about this. After passing 50-100 people over the first three miles or so, I started feeling bad. Like I was picking people off, using them to give myself the illusion of being faster. I would set my sights on someone’s back and decide I had to get past them. Hey, little pink shirt that says “12 in 2012”, eat my dust. You there, lady with the running skirt that keeps riding up, you’re next. But, kind of like with driving (you know, when you’re safe inside your vehicle and removed from real human contact), those people ahead of me aren’t really people. They’re improvised mini-goals. Like little moving pace markers, with faces. So the truth is that when I’m trying to pass people at a race, I’m not actually competing with them, I’m competing with myself and using their ever-changing speed as a point of reference. And at that realization is where I met my biggest improvised mini-goal of the day. That one might have been personal.

Because I didn’t drink enough water the day before the race, I freaked out and gulped down an entire bottle of water that morning. Naturally, the one pre-race porta-john stop was not sufficient so by mile 5 I was dying. Each pit stop on the course had two porta-johns and at least 8 people in line, so I waited until I came upon the public beach bathrooms that I knew would be open at the base of the Torrey Pines hill. There were a dozen stalls so I only waited a couple of minutes. By the time I was done my breath was all caught up and I had an easier than expected mile-long climb up Torrey. But once I arrived at the top I looked ahead, and to my horror I saw that my bathroom break had gotten me behind the 2:45 pacer! Frack. All that well-intentioned “I’m just having fun here” be damned, I’ve never taken 2:45 to finish a half marathon, and I wasn’t going to start today.

So I kicked my pace up a notch or two, which was really hard because it was mile 6 and miles 6 through 9 is often my dead zone during a half marathon, and it definitely was today. I was hungry and my legs were lead bricks. I was feeling every missed long run and every burpee I never did. It took me two miles just to pass that bastard 2:45 pacer, whom I was convinced was either running too fast (definitely running too fast) or downright mocking me. What an asshole.

And that’s when my stomach decided to have a say.

Now, I have some pretty irritable bowels. And I don’t mean a little gas here and some indigestion there. I’m talking a stomach full of gray-haired, bejowled and sour-faced old curmudgeons in ugly cardigans, who hate when I run for longer than 90 minutes and often don’t wait until the run is over to tell me so. Today was one of those days. Thankfully, the porta-johns were clear right before the 10 mile signs so I didn’t have to wait behind any other unfortunate pit-stoppers. Also thankfully, I had swiped two of the caffeinated gels from the volunteers and downed the second one just minutes earlier. So by the time I finished dealing with the curmudgeons, my legs were finally ready to run the damn race.

I always love the last few miles of a half marathon. I’m usually numb from the waist down by then, hopped up on various forms of sugar and artificial energy boosters, and I can see the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. And the great thing about this race is the last three miles are a direct payoff from the previous nine’s upward-bound hills. I flew past that 2:45 jackass again, this time for good (although it still worried me that I ever saw him – those pit stops were going to cost me dearly), and made up a shitload of time on all those downhills while everyone else hemmed and hawed about their bad knees. I crossed the finish line with a grin on my face (as always) and never even looked at the clock on my way by.

For those of you who are curious, my final time was 2:41. My current PR (on a completely flat course) remains unmoved at 2:34, which is just about what I would have run if I hadn’t stopped at the bathrooms. I wish I could tell you that I’m embarrassed. I think fundamentally I am – a few of my friends set immense PRs that day – but in reality I didn’t expect much from the race, other than to complete it. I’ve been feeling that comfortable indifference a lot lately, and I think that’s just fine. Well, for now.

I believe there really are two completely different – and acceptable – ways to approach a race: for a PR performance or for fun. And lately I’ve just been choosing the fun route. I make a lot of jokes about being lazy and unmotivated, but in all honesty I have been putting in some good mileage over the past few months. I even broke a few weekly mileage PRs. But I actually have mindfully chosen to spend my miles elsewhere besides on the path toward the half marathon race. Or any race, really (I apologize in advance, Born to Run 50K). Instead I have been doing a great deal of group running (and beer drinking), and have come to love it so much more than running solo. I have also been spending a lot more time in the hills, which are often steep enough to require hiking, so running has sometimes taken a back seat to those amazing views of the mountains and the ocean from up above. I have rekindled my love for practicing yoga and skipped quite a few runs to hit up a class…or to recover from one. I have taken the opportunity that my new home and lifestyle has afforded me, to discover new things I love about running. And to seek out new ways to keep from burning out while keeping my mileage high enough to be able to wing a half marathon….you know…if the day ever called for it. I am most definitely enjoying this new more laid-back view of training running, no doubt about it.

But don’t worry, I’ve still promised myself that I’ll train harder and PR at the America’s Finest City half marathon. Why? Well, because I’ll never learn, that’s why. The curmudgeons in  my belly are already shaking their heads.

Related articles

• I Left My Mojo in Carlsbad: Carlsbad Half Marathon Race Report (barefoot-monologues.com)
• The Great Big Wide World of Hashers: It’s Not What You Think (barefoot-monologues.com)

*   *   *

Ice is often portrayed in a negative light. You may have been compared to ice at some point in your life. You may have described someone else as having an “ice-cold heart,” or heard someone be criticized for giving an “icy” cold stare. Used in this way, ice is a metaphor for emotional detachment or unwelcoming. Ice also has an air of danger about it: electricity-halting ice storms, sheer walkways and sneaky black ice are side effects of winter in the cooler climates. You have likely slipped on the slick stuff at least once in your life, and learned to be wary of its presence on the roadways.

But you’ve forgotten that ice is an exceptionally beautiful phenomenon. At zero degrees Celsius, H2O molecules expand and form patterns that cease fluid movement…just like that. Ice crystals fall from the sky in ornate, unique arrangements. Slowly freezing water drips down off the edges of rocks and buildings to form those characteristic transparent stalactites that we all call icicles. Ice blankets the earth in sheer mirrors. It forms glaciers that move like slow creatures, carving giant canyons into the rock that formed our world.

Ice is incredibly patient, and it is incredibly strong. While water is highly penetrable, allowing anything at all to pass through it, pollute it and drain parts of it away, ice is impermeable. Ice is a barrier, a stronghold. Ice can preserve things inside its frigid core for centuries, until it melts or is discovered by some curious scientists. Ice expands things that are stronger than human hands can build. Ice is a silent rogue: it can cause movement, changes and even destruction one day, and then melt away on another, leaving not a single molecule of evidence behind.

Ice can be our frosty companion. It allows us the benefits of walking across lakes without falling in. Ice can shield us from the wind and it can even insulate us from the cold. Ice chills out our drinks, cools down our bodies, and preserves our precious food supply. Ice allows somebody in New Jersey to receive an organ transplant from California.

Ice is probably kinder than most people realize.  It tends to love in the harshest of ways, but it still cares. Ice is a mercurial companion, able to slice us and heal us at the same time. Like all of the most beautiful things in nature, ice is as placid as it is violent, as beautiful as it is dangerous. Ice is your cruelest friend and your most benevolent mother.

Smile the next time somebody calls you ice cold. A lukewarm bath has nothing on you.

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• Ice {Prompted} (riverramblings.wordpress.com)

Modeling for Instagram.

I know a lot of you runners like to wear hats on sunny days, especially in San Diego you all seem to swear by them. But, I don’t like them. They feel hot and big and binding on my head, I feel like I can’t see everything with the visor in my way, and…alright I’ll say it…they’re just not feminine. But I’m not an idiot (well, not most of the time), so I know that especially on hot, sunny days, I need something to protect my head and keep sweat out of my eyes. Sometimes I can’t stand anything on my head at all because it’s too hot, but otherwise, I prefer to wear tube-shaped head wraps. And since I’m such a big fan of INKnBURN, you know I had to try out their tech tube.

Like all the other INKnBURN products, the Tech Tube is super adorable. It comes in everyone’s favorite designs like Current (the style I have) and Lust, and it looks great (it goes really well with my new Leaf Tech Shirt, by the way). Just look at these tech tubes on InB’s beautiful clothing model, Holly Miller!

Holly looks great in everything!

The tech tube is also really versatile. You can wear it as a headband, under or over your hair. You can wear it around your neck and face as a gaiter on cold days. You can un-bunch it and cover your whole head. You can wear it around your wrist to dab sweat from your face. If you’re skinny enough, you can even use it as a belt to hold small items (I’ve seen my friend Krista do this with a buff).

InB’s tech tube is made out of the same material as their tech shirts: lightweight polyester mesh. You know, that sweat-wicking fabric everyone likes. And as advertised, the fabric does absorb and wick sweat from your body. But as a comparison to other head wraps I’ve used, which are made of cotton blends, the InB tech tube seems to hold in more warmth. Because of this, I think it would probably be best suited for cooler days. It’s also a little less stretchy than other head wraps, which can be a good or bad thing depending on how you wear it and the size/shape of your head. My head is rather small, and my hair is fine and quite silky/slippery. The combination of those two things means that on a windy day, my tech tube doesn’t stay put on my head. I almost lost it last week when I ran at the beach!

That said, almost nothing ever stays put on my pin-like, silky little head. People with less pin-like heads and/or thicker hair always tend to have less of an issue than me.

To combat the slip-off, I will often wear low pigtails or a pair of messy buns to hold the tube in place, toward the front of my head. Or I bunch a majority of the fabric to the front of my forehead, close to my eyebrows, which keeps the tube leveraged correctly. A head wrap hardly does any good keeping sweat away if it’s behind your hairline, anyhow.

Holding the tech tube on my head with some messy buns.

Hot yoga class is my favorite place to wear the tech tube. I sweat my butt off in that class and the tech tube covers up my yucky sweaty head, and keeps me from having to dab my face every thirty seconds.

Outside of exercise, I like to wear my INKnBURN tech tube as a fashion accessory. It’s pretty enough to wear with my yoga pants and a t-shirt (the SoCal uniform) when I run errands around town or to cover up a bad hair day. Which I have a lot of, now that I work from home and have become too lazy to use my hairdryer.

Check out all the tech tube styles on INKnBURN’s website!

And also, check me out on a St. Patrick’s Day run in the new INKnBURN craze: the Leaf Tech Shirt! Looks awesome, and it’s well-timed too…since green is Pantone’s 2013 Color of the Year.

And yes, my socks do say “BEER” on them.

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• Review: INKnBURN Handheld (barefoot-monologues.com)
• Review: INKnBURN Women’s Athletic Clothing (barefoot-monologues.com)
• Review: INKnBURN Running Skirts (barefoot-monologues.com)

I received a Handheld bottle holder from the lovely folks at INKnBURN a couple of weeks back. The nifty neoprene pouch came in one of my favorite INKnBURN design patterns, the Sugar Skull. I absolutely love it.

These days I prefer to run with a handheld bottle over a hydration pack or belt, unless it’s really hot and I’m going on a very long run. I bring my bottle with me on any run over four or five miles. INKnBURN’s handheld fits really well over my favorite Ultimate Direction 16 ounce bottle (note: this item does not come with a water bottle, but they offer one for $5 on the site), and I like it better than the cover I got with the bottle, so I’ve kept it. Why? Well…

• The stretchy neoprene fabric is much softer and more comfortable. I don’t want to go back to the old bottle holder now. This is not something I pictured myself saying, but there it is.
• The all-over fabric insulates the bottle: keeps water cool longer without freezing my hand off. Also, it absorbs condensation from the bottle and sweat from my hands, which keeps the bottle from slipping.
• Unlike most other bottle covers, this one is actually easy to put on the bottle and take off. This is useful when you want to wash the bottle but not have a yucky wet cover during your run.
• It fits just about any bottle, even the large 20 ounce ones. That way you can switch bottles and still use the same holder.
• The pockets are large and plentiful. The strap has a pocket that will hold gels or a key, and there is a really large foldover pocket on the front that can hold things as large as an iPhone (yup, it’s true!). The fabric is super stretchy. I usually use it for tissues and spare cash.
• Adjustable strap with convenient thumb hole. I don’t typically use it, but I know that a lot of people like the thumb hole in the strap.
• It’s attractive! You can wear your favorite INKnBURN design on your hand! So much prettier than the plain, always dirty-looking bottle holders that you usually see.

Most importantly, I like to ask myself this question before posting my review: After trying this item for free, would I actually buy it? Even at $39.95 a pop, I still would buy this handheld holder. I know what you’re thinking: the price is a tad stiff. But just like anything from INKnBURN, what you get for that price is a top-quality, 100% American Made product, backed by an insanely creative team of real people with a commitment to innovative products, beautiful design and excellent customer service. This is not some cheap crap made in Taiwan by a 12 year old getting paid 75 cents a day: it’s INKnBURN. Know what the “n “ stands for? NOTCRAP.

Sorry, I really wanted that joke to work out better.

Check out some of the other colorful designs that INKnBURN offers in the handheld holder!

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• Review: INKnBURN Tech Tube (barefoot-monologues.com)
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On April 15^th, 2013, twenty-six thousand people lined up at the starting line for the 117^th running of the Boston Marathon. These people were runners who worked their asses off to train for one of the oldest and most celebrated races to occur each year. A race held in one of the oldest and most beautiful cities in the world, and my home town. All around them, hundreds of thousands of supporters lined the streets from Hopkinton to Boston. On April 15^th, 2013, these runners and their amazing Boston-bred supporters showed the entire world just how incredible the human race is.

You’re probably expecting to see hundreds entries pop up all over the blogosphere about this awful tragedy. Many writers will seek solace in putting words to paper on this day. Everyone is sad. Shocked. Angry. Hurting. But, at least for me, there is an underlining emotion behind all of the negative ones: pride.

If you love movies like I do, you’ve seen a thousand tragedies happen on screen. You’ve seen it all. Bombs blowing up in buildings, cars, on airplanes, you’ve seen depictions of war, destruction, distopia. You’ve seen giant alien monsters crush entire cities and bullets pierce hundreds of brave main characters and evil bad guys. In the movies, where the one or two bravest and best fictional heroes fight evil to its doom every time, the hundreds of innocent nameless people caught in the mix are always running fast and far away from the danger.

What I saw yesterday afternoon when I turned on my television was a scene right out of a horror film. Giant explosions of fire and smoke, people screaming, glass shards blowing. Nothing could prepare me or anyone else watching for that reality, and my brain wanted to remain convinced that it was all fake.

But, very much unlike anything I’ve ever seen on a movie screen, everybody close to the explosion was running into the danger, not away from it. It was one of the most incredibly unexpected things I have ever seen. Runners, spectators, officials…all of the innocent nameless people. They were running toward the fire, the smoke, toward the people who were hurt by the blast. They didn’t know if there were going to be more explosions, and they didn’t care. They pulled down fences, they ripped off their own shirts to use for rags, they came in droves to help wherever they could. They weren’t asked. They didn’t even think about it. On my television screen I saw dozens of nameless innocent people becoming heroes, right before my very eyes.

What a sight. I just couldn’t ignore the incredible goodness amidst the badness.

Many people will recall this event as an awful tragedy, a terrorist act, a bloody date in history. And it is all of those things. But perhaps even more importantly, this event is an opportunity. That’s right. It’s an opportunity for each one of us watching that dreadful horror movie to remember the enormous amount of good that exists in all of us. And the courage. With all that’s going on in the world of politics and international affairs, it can be easy to lose your faith in the altruistic nature of the human race. Yes, one or more – but few – individuals are responsible for creating this evil. But their numbers are infinitesimal, as compared to the many, the droves of the benevolent.

Events such as the tragedy at the Boston Marathon ask us…no, beg us to unite in recognition of the greatness that we are, and the greatness that we can be for one another. On April 15^th, 2013, there were no Democrats, no Republicans, no minorities, no gays, no Muslims, no gun-supporters, no pro-lifers, no politicians…just a lot of great people. A lot of heroes.

You make me proud, Boston.

*   *   *

de·fi·ance [dih-fahy-uhns]
noun
1. a daring or bold resistance to authority or to any opposing force.
2. open disregard; contempt (often followed by of): defiance of danger.
3. a challenge to meet in combat or in a contest.

On the whole of my life, I have never really done things the way that I was supposed to.

It all started when I was a baby. My father told me several times the story of my milk bottle. Whenever I had a bottle I would hold it in my left hand, and if he took it from me and put it into my right hand, I would switch it back every time. I defied him to change my left-handedness.

But I guess I never noticed my defiant streak until rather recently, as I’ve spent more time looking back on my life, and surveying the people I have chosen to surround myself with. I used to think that I was the obedient type, because I’m a nice person and I don’t really get into any trouble. But now I realize that even though I wasn’t a troublemaker, in very subtle ways I have always been as defiant as they come. And this defiance has led me to be headstrong, but also quite stable and independent in many very important ways.

When you’re a kid, being different from everyone else is a bad thing. Kids don’t really have enough perspective to find the value in differences: they see any all variation from their own likeness as an obvious negative. Well, come to think of it a lot of adults still think that way, always judging those around them for daring to do things differently. But this post isn’t about them.

As I think more and more about it, I realize I have always been kind of different from everybody else. Growing up, I was the only girl in my family with brown hair instead of blonde, and the only one who wanted to go outside and build forts instead of playing with Barbies or helping the adults cook in the kitchen. I was also the only girl in my grade who went to gymnastics class instead of joining the basketball team.  When all the kids wrote stories for a school-wide literary publication, I wrote a poem with an illustration. In a world full of teachers, nurses and electrical engineers, I got my degree in art.

As I’ve gotten older I’ve come to embrace my individuality. I feel that it helps me to know myself, and knowing myself has helped me to make decisions based on what I want, rather than what I’m supposed to want. For example, knowing that I don’t want to have children. That I don’t like the idea of owning the home I live in. That I prefer the west coast over the east. That I prefer to run barefoot. That I’d rather live in the mountains of North County than in the close, crowded downtown San Diego, where all my cool friends live. I support gay marriage, dig Paleo over Vegan, and would prefer to run with a bunch of obnoxious, tutu-wearing, beer-drinking Hash House Harriers over serious road marathoners, any day.

Historically, I’ve received a lot of flak for my individuality. People just don’t like it when you aren’t exactly like them. But even though I was nice about it, I’ve always remained defiant to the end: I don’t have to be like you, or your daughters or your sister or your last girlfriend or your best friend or the person whose job position I’m replacing. I only have to be me (so screw you).

These are all things I’ve learned about myself, on my own. Nobody influenced or told me to do these things. I don’t follow anyone, nor do I try to cut the first trails. I do what feels right for me, not for someone else. I don’t need anyone to agree with me in order to validate my choices. I just am who I am. I love this chick, and I defy anyone who would try to change her left-handedness.

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