Welcome back to Just Ruck It. I'm your host, Lindsay, and today I've got something a little different for you. If you remember about five, six weeks ago, I did a thing. I signed up for my very first Ruck race, the Rucking of the Green in Rochester, New York. And guess what? I showed up and not only did I finish, but I did a personal best and. Even exceeded what my potential best could have been. And I have some thoughts like what it feels like to line up with the other Rutgers for the first time. What surprised me, what went wrong?'cause you know, something always does. And what I'd absolutely do, again, whether you're training for your first race, thinking about signing up Or just wanna hear what it's like to ruck with a crowd instead of solo. This one's for you. So grab your pack lace up, and let's talk about what happens when you ruck off the trail and onto the start line. The running of the green is a 27 year tradition here in Rochester, New York, a race that kicks off the city's St. Patrick's Day festivities with a sea of green, early morning adrenaline, and just enough chaos to feel festive. It starts and finishes in downtown following the painted green line of the parade route right into the heart of the city. But this year, something new showed up a rucking division. I stumbled on it through the Rochester Ruck Club Facebook page. It turns out the race organizers decided to test the waters. Nothing official, no weight requirements, no gear checks, just casual. Let's see if anybody signs up for this kind of deal. And I thought, well, why not? So I clicked register and then immediately panicked. I haven't done a race since high school and now I was voluntarily signing up to show up. Solo not running, but with weight on my back and a sea of strangers. No support crew, no race buddy. No idea what to expect. Just me, my ruck, and the decision to go for it. The race was scheduled for Saturday, March 15th with a 9:30 AM start. It was a five mile down and back over relatively flat city streets crossing the Genesee River twice, including once over the iconic Ford Street Bridge. The start and finish line. Smack dab at the judges' stand at the center of the St. Patrick's Day parade happening later that morning, which meant there was going to be people and lots of them, and there was I about to ruck through the middle of it all. Inside the mercantile, it was full on explosion of St. Patrick's Day spirit. A sea of runners decked out in green gold stripes kilts face bait flooded. This place everywhere you looked, it screamed celebration me. Uh, I sorta wear green. My trusty army green just ruck shirt and a pair of black yoga pants made up by race day outfit. Functional, low key, and yeah, a hundred percent me. Since I came solo, I spent the pre-race time wandering around, scoping out the crowd to see if I could find anybody else with a pack. I eventually spotted a group of four guys wearing weighted vests and gave them a quick hey, and thumbs up. Then I met Paul who runs the Rochester Ruck Club and I introduced myself. He was welcoming right away and invited me to join a few other Ruckers and Veterans for a pre-race photo before the race kicked off. We paused for a moment of silence to honor those who will never ruck again. A powerful reminder of where this movement began and why it still matters. The energy was in the air, the loud, joyful, buzzing movement music, and I couldn't tell if it was the butterflies in my stomach or nerves, or just pure excitement as the clock inch closer to nine 30 start. I found myself reflecting on the training that led me here. For the last six weeks, I'd been rucking a minimum of three times a week. Just short two kilometer sessions, usually with some hills, keeping things interesting along the way. I added some leg strengthening exercises like step-ups, lunges, squats, nothing fancy, just consistent effort, but honestly, the best decision I made a last minute stretching challenge the day before. On Friday, I set a timer every hour. I picked a different hip stretch to hold for two minutes. It sounded simple, but let me tell you, my hips have never felt better. Heading into a race, no stiffness, no tightness, just ready to go. Feel wise, I was set carload on spaghetti the night before, followed by a protein rich breakfast, a splash of electrolytes, and because I'm not 20 anymore, a preemptive dose of Advil, I mean, you gotta respect those joints. Physically, I felt strong. The only real question was how fast was I gonna go? Now, here's where I'm a bit of a weirdo. I like to pace myself in kilometers, not miles. I know my relaxed walk hovers around a 12 minute kilometer. But when I push it, I can usually hold a 10 minute per kilometer pace. But with this being a five mile course and everyone around me talking about minutes per mile, I just decided to wing it. Math can wait. I was just gonna ruck my race and see where I landed. Let me just say it. Never test something new. On race day, we've all heard that rule, but in the days leading up to this event, I questioned everything from footwear to pack setup. The gear spiral was real. I went full on nerd mode testing my favorite shoe and sock combos, and in the end, I settled on a pair of Keen sneakers that were sturdy and broken in, paired with a pair of merino socks, and I swapped in a supportive insole and my feet felt happy. And if your feet are happy, you're already winning. The bigger battle. My pack, I debated back and forth comfort or control. Option one was my trusty Gregory Jade Dayak, loaded with real world weight. Basically my full day hike setup. It's comfy familiar, but option two, my GORUCK with a 15 pound ruck plate, less cushion, better balance, and better weight control. After testing, both on short and long ruck, I ultimately went with my goruck. The pack itself is heavier, but once I added my essentials and med kit and Gerber and cold weather layers, it brought me to a perfect 30 pound dry weight, then add in two liters of water, one with electrolytes for a post-race recovery, and I was sitting at 34 pounds wet, not bad for a first race setup, standing at the start line, heart thumping pack, secure gear dialed in, and it was go time. But Rutgers don't run. That's the rule. And as for this race, the crowd was broken up in pace groups, volunteers held sticks with pace. Times scattered like breadcrumbs across the crowd. If you planned to run a certain pace, you huddled up with your people. But for us, Rutgers, we were the caboose. Our pace cart read 15 minutes. Well, that's exactly what I wanted. That's a 15 minute mile or about four mile per hour walking pace. Which, by the way equals about 120 beat per minute song, which is perfect, had I remembered my AirPods, but nope. Forgot. So I was, as the young people say, raw dogging the race, which I don't think they really know what that means. Ew. The announcers, they were hyping up the crowd, counting us down. Horn blows races on. I double checked my RFID chip, which I fixed in my right thigh as a first timer. I was weirdly curious about the mechanics of crossing the start line spoiler. It's very anti-climatic. A sea of runners surged forward and we inched up like herded turtles. Eventually I spotted the subtle hump in the road with the RFID reader and I took a deep breath, cheers from the crowd, gave me a burst of adrenaline. I crossed the line game on. I tried to follow my own advice. Don't start too fast, find us a sustainable pace. Ignore the sprinting crowd as I saw the 15 minute pacer behind me, but two other Rutgers in front, a man and a woman. I fell into a rhythm somewhere in the middle. As I followed the green line down Exchange Street, I felt my Apple watch Buzz one K down. I glanced down. Eight minutes, 58. Second pace. Wait, what? I, I've never hit that before. Oh my gosh. Am I pushing this too hard until the two kilometer buzzed in at nine minutes and four seconds? Wow. Still strong feeling good. Hurry. Maybe this isn't a fluke. The course followed the Genesee River and crossed the iconic Ford Street Bridge. The energy was electric, cowbells, cheering, volunteers, blasting music, gave life to every step. But for someone doing this solo, I did not feel alone. Then came a surprise that made my heart literally explode. An old high school friend spotted me from the returning crowd. She weaved her way over to the center line and gave me a high five. That moment, pure magic. At 4K, my Apple watch buzzed again. Eight minutes, 53, 7 seconds. I'm getting faster. Fueled by emotions and momentum. I hit the turnaround and grabbed a water cup from the volunteers. I had water in my pack. Yeah, but stopping to get it out. Nope. So this little water pickup hit the spot, but then, uh, trash cups littered everywhere. My inner trail goblin was highly offended, so naturally I stopped squat and pick up what I could carry handfuls of cups, still rucking along, hoping for a trash bin. I finally found a dumpster near the six K mark as it pinned at nine minutes, 30 seconds, and dumped my hall. Slower pace, but totally worth it. The final 2K. Brutal. No more cheering crowds. No more speedy runners on their return giving high fives. No more words of encouragement. Just a handful of us trudging forward, and one guy on a tandem bike totally dressed as a leprechaun. Eight kilometers, nine minutes, 58 seconds. My feet ached, but I saw the finish line and of course it's uphill pure torture. But IR shuffled my way to the end and stopped my watch at one hour, 15 minutes, 12 seconds near perfect, 15 minute mile pace. What I stumbled through the finishing shoot waved off some water from a kind rucking volunteer. I was after my electrolytes in my pact and chugged them like victory juice. I. Postrace free beer. Yes, please. So I grabbed one, a donut, another water, and collapsed into sweet, sweaty satisfaction as I waited for my return ride. After the race, I crashed hard, passed out cold for a few hours. My body demanded recovery. I wasn't about to argue, and I torched nearly a thousand calories and my legs were cooked. I needed fuel stat, so naturally I refueled live terrible bar pizza at a bowling tournament later that night. I mean, not exactly peak recovery nutrition, but hey, it was a charity event, and bad food are good. That causes totally my jam. The next day I did a body scan. Everything felt fatigued. But not sore, which told me my training plan, hip stretch, challenge, and pre-race prep were right on target except my big toes. I've developed weird blisters in the creases of my bendy bits. Not from sock friction or shoe rub. It's just a new kind of, Hey, you kind of pushed yourself a little hard from my feet. Thankfully they didn't burst and barefoot or squishy slipper. Life was a bliss. Would I do it again? Heck yeah. I would. I never would've pushed myself to that kind of pace on my own. The electric atmosphere, the crowd, the adrenaline, it all added fuel that I didn't even know I had. And here's the thing, you can do this too. Did you know most five Ks in community races allow Rutgers? As long as there is no PAC restriction, just check with the organizers. Some races even offer walk divisions, which is exactly where we shine. And trust me, rucking a race turns head, you'll get the nods, the double takes, and a few dang as runners pass. But more than that, you'll know that you're doing something hard and finishing strong. Try a ruck race. You just might surprise yourself. Okay guys, now it's your turn. Your mission this week, sign up for something. It doesn't have to be a race. Maybe it's a virtual 5K. Maybe it's a charity walk. Maybe it's a local trail you've never rucked before, or even just a personal goal to hit a distance or a weight on your back before the end of the week. But pick something. Put it on the calendar. Give it a date, give it a goal because you're ready, and sometimes it takes the deadline to prove it to yourself. When you do tag me on social media at just rucking it or post about it in our new Substack comments. I wanna cheer you on, see your gear, hear what you're working towards. And speaking of gear, I've dropped some bonus content just for subscribers over on Substack. Photos from the race, a gear checklist that worked for me and what didn't, and a little behind the scenes peak that we won't hear on the pod. So head on over to just ruck it.substack.com to check it on out because Rucking isn't just about carrying weight, it's about choosing to show up, and life is rucking wonderful, especially when you cross the finish line.