If you’ve read my piece on what’s changed in running over the last ten years, you’ll know I’m a bit of a sceptic when it comes to hydration vests. They’ve always looked too much like a pound shop security guard top, or worse, a stab-proof vest for someone whose most dangerous enemy is a half marathon.
But those who know me know I’ll try anything once.
Stuffing gels and phones into a running belt is clumsy at best, so I decided to give this vest business a go. I wasn’t about to remortgage the flat for one of the fancy Salomon jobs, or even fork out £40 or £50 for Decathlon’s mid-range attempt. I'm not made of money. No, I found myself a £20 special on Amazon. Pounds, not euro. Belfast life.
The packaging gave me the first laugh. It proudly advertises a hydration bladder. Which is hands down the least appetising phrase in sport. Nothing says “refreshment” like an organ you normally hear your elderly relative talk about. Well, the bladder is the actual water container thats stored in the running hydration vest. But the terms seem to be used interchangeably for some reason.
Then the age guide: suitable for ages three and up. Fantastic. So if you see a toddler rocking up to parkrun with one of these strapped on, don’t worry, it’s perfectly above board. No bottle, no buggy, just him and his little bladder bouncing away.
Opening it was another joy. There’s something faintly terrifying about a runner with scissors. One wrong slip and the bladder wouldn’t be the only casualty. Still, I freed it from the plastic without losing a finger.
Now to the real test: actually using it. My debut was on a long run from Belfast to Seafield, about ten miles. Because it wasn’t an out-and-back, I couldn’t exactly stash bottles in a bush like I normally would. So the vest earned its keep.
May I add, once you get past the Airport Road and into Holywood, round the old Kinnegar army base, the coastal route is stunning. I mean absolutely stunning. The day I went, the wind was low, the views were wide, and you can see why there are million-pound houses dotted along the coast. The path holds up well too, with only a mile or two of trail.
Back to the vest. I started drinking around mile four or five. The tube takes a bit of getting used to. There’s a nozzle you pull down (or is that up?), then you have to bite it before the water comes out. A whole series of fail-safes that stop it spilling, handy, if slightly kinky.
Quality wise, for £20, it’s sound. I haven’t tried the £100 Salomon versions, but plenty of wannabe marathoners like myself on Strava are running around with these cheap Chinese ones too.
One surprise: I emptied the full two-litre bag over ten miles. Rookie mistake. Rationing might be required if I push up the distance. Paddy Ryan was right in his article, as the bladder empties, the pack loosens, and you need to keep tightening the straps. I definitely had to cinch mine mid-run.
The weak point? The phone holder. Sweat from your shoulders seeps straight through. I’ve wrecked a phone before that way, so lesson learned: plastic pouch inside the pocket. On the other strap I stashed a bottle of Huel for the finish. I was ending at Seafield train station, miles from a shop, so it was a lifesaver.
All told, it sat snug, didn’t bounce too badly, and didn’t get in the way. I went in a sceptic, came out grudgingly impressed. Dare I say it… I might even be converted.
So next time you see me jogging around Belfast with what looks like a bargain-basement stab vest and a Capri-Sun tube dangling out of my mouth, don’t panic. It’s not a cult initiation. It’s just me, finally giving in to the hydration vest.
