Running Like a Girl

by Alexandra Heminsley

  Try asking your company for some corporate sponsorship. A lot of smaller companies are happy to put up a bit of money for you to run with their logo on your outfit, while others simply want to contribute to a healthy, worthwhile pursuit for their employees. If you work for a bigger company, it is worth getting them on board so you can send companywide e-mails promoting any events you hold to raise funds.

  Be imaginative.

  You don’t have to ask people to sponsor you only for the race day. There is a world of other sponsorship ideas that you can dip into, from bake sales at the office to asking people for their unwanted things that you can sell on eBay to raise funds. Imagination is a more effective fund-raising tool than relentless nagging.

  Be strategic.

  Divide up the amount that you need to raise, or the amount that you are aiming to raise, and work out how many people you know who might be able to sponsor you a few dollars. Ask them. Then get creative with the others. Don’t repeatedly ask people who won’t be able to afford it; that’s rude. It’s easier to play to people’s strengths, getting help from those with time and money from those with money.

  Be polite.

  No one is obliged to sponsor you. You have chosen to do this event. It is your responsibility. Don’t be impatient if people don’t immediately cough up. Be as lavish with your thanks as you are with your requests.

  Maintain a sense of humor.

  Running can be funny, undignified, and ridiculous. It’s not necessary to be po-faced about threshold runs and lactic acid just because you are raising money for a worthy cause. Maintain a sense of humor—you might need it in other people before the end of your running adventure.

  Work with others you’re running with, not against them.

  Find out if there are others in your area running for the same charity; if there are, try to coordinate with them. More than one set of contacts at a bake sale or a trivia night can make more of a splash and keep spirits high if you end up selling damp cupcakes at a drizzly fete with no one but the toothless guy from the booth next door for company.

  Don’t leave it until the last minute.

  This really is one of the most important points. As with anything to do with money, avoiding the issue is not going to make it go away. If you feel awkward asking people, updating social media, or doing specific e-mails, you are still obliged to deliver the required money to the charity. The way they see it, your social anxieties are less of a problem than those being endured by the people on whose behalf they work.

  Add the link to your fund-raising page to your e-mail signature or in the bio of your Twitter or Facebook profile, so you can alert people without having to address it directly. Don’t ignore the fact that you’ve got a certain amount to raise. The charities will help you, but they can’t do it all. As with the running itself, the only way to do it is to, well, do it.

  Keep in touch with the charity.

  Most of the charities that work with running events are very good at informing their runners where the funds are going and why they are needed. It is a tremendous motivation to visualize what the money can be turned into. There is usually a specific contact who can get back to you if you need help or have queries, and the charity always sends a team on the day to cheer you on. Make that connection if you can. Smaller charities in particular are hugely grateful for the funds, and the difference they make is immediate and tangible.

  Looking Good for Marathon Day

  The confidence that running has given me in my appearance is immeasurable. There are people who have seen me in my running clothes before or after a run whom I never would have let see me entirely without makeup five years ago. Public running events are occasions when there are professional and amateur photographers in abundance. I want to look good in those pictures. By “good,” I mean strong, powerful, and inspiring. More than that, knowing that you don’t quite look like death, even if you feel like it, is indisputably cheering.

  Consequently, I have put an inordinate amount of time and effort into researching what beauty products look good, make me feel good, and, crucially, don’t disintegrate before I have encountered my first glucose drink. These are my essentials:

  Nail polish.

  Nail polish is the perfect boost for running. I love it anyway, but when I am taking part in a public race, I have a positively Brontë-esque passion for sparkly flashes of color on my fingernails. I have run in Tom Ford Perfect Coral, Chanel Peridot (a greeny gold), and Illamasqua Rare. Before the San Francisco Marathon, I yearned for a certain sparkly topcoat that a friend ended up traveling across the whole of London for, as she knew how much a part of me my marathon nails are. It is almost impossible to chip or ruin nail polish while distance running, which makes it the King of Products for these purposes.

  As far as my toes are concerned, I prefer to leave them bare, so I can survey any damage incurred when I get home. Make sure you cut and file your toenails about three or four days before the event so that they are neat but not so cropped that they leave flesh beyond the nail, which really hurts after three or four hours of running.

  Eyeliner.

  For my first marathon, I knew that I wanted to use one item of makeup that would stand out, stay the distance, and make me feel like a disco goddess even if drenched in sweat, rain, and humiliation. After much consideration, I went with an eyeliner that I’d used at my sister’s eighties-themed hen party. Bright, almost violent green, it was MAC’s Liquidlast in Aqualine, which takes about three days to remove. It didn’t budge an inch on the hen night, despite our spending hours learning a dance routine and making a pop video to Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance with Somebody.” I was finding neon sparkles on my pillow for days afterward, so I had absolute faith that the eyeliner would last a marathon. My faith was not misplaced. Despite at least an hour’s downpour, I was still wearing it in all of the grinning finish-line photographs. Sure, it looked a little demented, but I was proud to cling to a little disco glitter despite the horrors of the day.

  Eyelashes.

  False eyelashes for running can feel very “Jane Fonda workout video,” too close for comfort to brickish bronzer streaked high on cheekbones and slick lip gloss. But if your lashes are as translucent as mine, you can look like an albino rabbit in finishing photos, and mascara applied six hours earlier isn’t going to make the distance. I’m not suggesting you apply falsies the morning of the race, which would be altogether too stressful, but I have become somewhat devoted to an occasional twirl with semi-permanent eyelashes done professionally in a salon. Applied individually to your own lashes, they make you wake up looking like Brigitte Bardot and are almost impossible to remove until they grow off with your own lashes. They are a firm marathon friend, and I save the requisite cash to make sure I can have a set on for big events.

  Moisturizer.

  Running does extraordinary things to one’s skin. As someone who has always had very dry skin, I had anticipated that a few extra hours a week spent outside would leave it more parchment-like than ever. In fact, the opposite happens. The boost of circulating blood, as well as the sweat pumping out of my pores, gives me a glow that no product has been able to replicate. The salt of a good sweat is an incomparable exfoliant, as is the sea spray that blasts my face on seafront runs. That said, dry skin can be grim on long runs, and during the winter, I can feel rather battered. Clinique’s Moisture Surge is my solution.

  SPF.

  As I’ve already touched upon earlier, despite the scaremongering about running making you look older, there is only one aspect to running that can age you: the sun. Hours spent under its glare in summer or winter can be terribly detrimental to the skin. I find it a little difficult to care too much about my skin aging given that, well, I am aging. But nor am I brimming with enthusiasm for a leathery face. Use an SPF moisturizer and a cap to keep the rays off your face.

  A cap.

  The ultimate runner’s beauty accessory, it hides you from the sun and resolves the dilemma about what to
do with your hair.

  Hair ties.

  A conundrum I have yet to solve fully. A ponytail can swish against the momentum you’re trying to run with, a fringe can flap and fall in your eyes, short hair can become wild and unpredictable. Over the years I have relied on a selection of caps, clips, and bands to keep wisps of hair from making me murderous when I should be enjoying running with the wind behind me. Elasticated cloth hairbands ping straight off the back of my head and get lost in a bush. Buns unravel no matter how many pins I put in them. Having tried everything I can think of, I’ve concluded that the best things for keeping stray hair under wraps are old-fashioned plaits. I run almost Mormon-style. Yes, it’s something of a girl-woman look once you’re over twenty-five, but if your motives are entirely practical, as mine are, I reckon it’s okay.

  Packing for the Big Event

  On the weekend of my first London Marathon, I was in a state of such high anxiety that I am amazed anyone was interested enough in my mission to turn up and support me. Perhaps my most neurotic behavior manifested itself in my preparations for the morning of the Big Day. I had become so terrified of forgetting something that for two whole weeks before, I had an immaculate display of everything I needed to take laid out over half of my living room floor. The trouble was, I kept having to use some of the things I’d need (my wallet, my running shoes, my house keys), so I had developed a complicated Post-it system in which different colors stood for what I was using. Looking back, I have often thought that I went entirely mad, but in hindsight my hypervigilance was not completely irrational. After all, I was about to leave my home and try to cross one of the world’s largest capital cities with none of my stuff. Not even a little hobo knapsack. As I’ve already described, you can feel vulnerable handing over your bag before the race. It’s gone, on a big truck, for hours. Your house keys, your ID, the lot. What I didn’t know that first time is that the system that gets it back to you is awe-inspiring. On the day you register, you are typically given a large heavy-duty plastic bag with a huge number pinned to it. On marathon day, you have that same number pinned on you, so the chaps on the van can see you coming at the end, find your bag while you’re being given your medal and goodie bag, and then present it to you as if by magic. “My bag!” I gasped that first time. “How did you . . . ?”

  For what must have been the 2,343rd time that day, the volunteer pointed at the two corresponding numbers, patted my arm, and said, “Well done, you must be very tired.” I was, but I was also happy to have my bag back.

  Here’s what you’ll want to find in yours:

  Warm, comfortable clothes.

  When you finish a long run, your body starts to do some weird things, the likes of which I have experienced only during some of my most epic hangovers. You will be covered in sweat, probably looking as if you have just emerged from a shower even if you haven’t made use of the cooling roadside showers. When you stop running, it’s common to start shivering even if it isn’t cold or raining. I enjoy selecting my most luxuriously baggy clothes to put on when I’m reunited with my bag. A nice wide-necked sweatshirt and some tracksuit bottoms with a stretchy rollover waistband are the dream. Peel off any of the sweat-soaked running clothes that you think dignity will permit (I’m always happy to stand around in a sports bra at this point; they’re way bigger than bikini tops), then layer the baggy clothes over the remainder of your running clothes as soon as you can.

  A pair of oversize socks/flip-flops.

  The degree to which feet swell over the course of a marathon is truly extraordinary, and trying to put on any kind of shoe after you’ve removed your running shoes is like trying to stuff a baby back up the birth canal once it’s crying in your arms. Huge socks that can be eased over throbbing feet are the order of the day, even if you have to walk on a bit of pavement in them. If the weather is warm, bring flip-flops.

  Compression socks, worn to ease the ache caused by blood gathering in the lower legs after long runs, are significantly harder to get on. They can be stretched delicately over your throbbing calves and feet once you’re home and showered.

  Food that isn’t too sweet.

  After months of training, carb monitoring, and water slurping, you might feel that a huge bag of gummy worms will be exactly the treat for the end of your marathon. Think again. The toxic combination of sweating, breathing through your mouth, and eating and drinking sticky glucose products for hours will mean your teeth feel coated with sugar and your stomach is rumbling in revolt. At most races, they tend to give you sweets as they hand you your medal and T-shirt, so you’re more likely to crave crackers, nuts, or chips, though chips aren’t ideal for the whole “thousands of bags shoved on vans and lugged across town” bit.

  Water isn’t too important, as there is generally a lot of it about at the finish line of big events, but you might want to have a bottle in there just in case.

  Toilet paper/wipes.

  There will be so many places beyond the obvious that you’ll want to wipe: your forehead, your feet, your sticky hands, under your arms, behind your ears. Basically, you will feel like a child who has just encountered his first ice cream sundae, and you will want to freshen up as much as possible until you reach a shower.

  Painkillers/anti-inflammatories.

  Even if you have no injuries and aren’t expecting any, taking some ibuprofen immediately after a race can help your aching muscles and battered joints recover. Remember, medical staff at events will not give these to runners, as I learned to my cost. It’s worth having some to share with others.

  Tampons.

  If you are a first-time marathoner, there is a strong chance that training will have confused your menstrual cycle a little. Be prepared for the unexpected. Whatever happens, tampons make useful cotton-woolly tools to mop up all sorts of other cuts and grazes that might be incurred en route.

  Phone.

  If you’re not running with it, don’t leave it at home. Though big-city marathons in particular can create a sort of “New Year’s Eve 1999, everyone on earth is texting at the same moment” logjam, it is worth a shot in order to contact loved ones and find them at the end or let them know you have made it.

  Wallet.

  Even if you think you won’t need any money because you’ve thought of everything you could possibly require, it’s worth taking some cash or a card, so you can catch the cab home that you thought you would do without or buy the pint you were sure you wouldn’t feel like.

  Car keys.

  As above. No one should put more effort into getting to a start line than in getting home from the finishing line.

  Keys.

  Don’t lock yourself out. It would be the world’s biggest known case of “FML” to be in eyeshot of your bath and bed yet unable to get into them.

  Here’s what you should have left the house with and discarded once used:

  Baggy, disposable clothes.

  At events, there can be up to an hour of standing around between checking your bag and crossing the starting line. At larger, less competitive marathons, there are often huge crowds and fancy-dress runners, and it can take well over half an hour for slower runners to get within sight of the starting line. If it’s cold or raining, you’re going to want to keep warm for this dawdling. It is beyond grim to start a race shivering, with muscles as tightly wound as your nerves. The best thing to do is either scrounge your brother’s/boyfriend’s/father’s skankiest painting clothes or go to a charity shop and spend two or three dollars on a pair of baggy tracksuit bottoms and a hoodie that you don’t mind throwing off, never to be seen again, once you’re well under way and warm enough. It seems profligate, but most people do it, and the races are well prepared for it. Before the starting pistol has been fired, charity representatives are picking up the items by the side of the road and whisking them off to a better home.

  Garbage bags.

  While secondhand hoodies will keep you warm, they won’t keep you dry. Garbage bags will. Yes, it sounds a little early
Vivienne Westwood dressing the Slits, but it’s an incomparably practical system. Just peel one off your roll under the sink, cut a gap in the bottom that’s big enough to fit your head through, fold it up, and pop it in your bag. If there’s a downpour while you’re waiting, you can put it over your head. The bag will come down to about your knees and keep your running clothes dry. As you approach the starting line, you can slip it off and chuck it to the side. I tend to take a couple in case I see someone getting drenched; it would make a great if nerdy meet-cute. (This has yet to happen.)

  Banana/sports bars/water.

  You might not want or need any of these things, but they’re useful to have, if only to share. By the time you reach the starting pens, breakfast can seem like a long time ago. Lunch will seem even further away. Nutritionally, I am not sure I have ever needed the snacks I’ve eaten just before setting off, but I always eat them in the spirit of not dying of sudden malnutrition.

  Vaseline.

  I tend to put a big scoop in an old makeup container that has been through the dishwasher. It’s good to have on hand in case any straps or seams need relubricating, or to put on dry lips if it’s a windy day. Again, it is considerate to take a bit extra in case someone else is in need. I pop it in a trash can before setting off.

  A ballpoint pen.

  I have forgotten to fill in the next-of-kin details on my running number more than once. I like to keep a crappy old ballpoint in my sports bag just in case. Make sure it’s not anything inky that might run if it rains. It’s easy to toss before setting off, as it’s been especially selected for its nearly-at-the-end-of-lifeness anyway.

  Your running number.

  In the five years I have been running, the design of everything from water bottles to hair ties has improved almost beyond compare. Yet running numbers remain infuriatingly unchanged. How has no one tackled this? I despise them. They serve an invaluable purpose: They are your ID from the moment you surrender your bag until you retrieve it, and they carry contact and medical details in case of injury or security emergency. Yet given the slickness of almost everything else involved in public racing, they seem almost obnoxiously cumbersome. I often catch my wrists on the flapping fabric when I’m pumping my arms as I tackle a hill, and I have ruined a couple of tops by sweating through the fabric, which rubs against the number, causing the ink to bleed off the back. It is also impossible to affix the number properly if you have boobs. Men are fine; they just pin it onto their nice smooth man chests, popping it right above the stripe of their running club or sponsor vest. Women have to affix it over their stomach area, where things are flatter. This is also an area that you can’t see if you have boobs, as well as an area you don’t want to be blindly jabbing at with safety pins when you’re already juddering with nerves. I’ve had to resort to asking women I’ve never met to help me out and am now resigned to pinning it to my top the night before, by lying on my back in my chosen running top like an anxious, carby ladybird, marking the spots where the pins need to go with a finger dipped in some water, taking off the top, and then pinning the number on while the wet dots are visible.