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The lights are blinding, the bass is vibrating through the soles of my boots, and the energy of ten thousand people is converging into a single, pulsing heartbeat. There is nothing quite like the front row of a music festival. For those few hours, the world outside doesn’t exist—until a stray elbow catches my waist, and a cold flash of panic cuts through the adrenaline.
If you live with Type 1 Diabetes (T1D), you know that "panic" isn't about the crowd; it’s the immediate mental inventory of your hardware. Is my pump still attached? Did that guy just snag my tubing? Is my CGM sensor currently being sweated off?
I learned the hard way that you can’t just "wing it" in a mosh pit. My first festival disaster happened during a headliner’s most iconic drop. I was jumping, lost in the moment, when a sudden, sharp tug at my hip told me everything I needed to know. My infusion set had been ripped clean out, snagged on the sequined jacket of a stranger. I spent the rest of the set huddled in a port-a-potty, trying to insert a new site by the light of a dying iPhone flashlight, missing the encore I’d traveled 500 miles to see.
That was the day I realized that if I wanted to live loud, I needed a better system. I needed to turn my diabetes management into a "tactical operation."

The mosh pit is a beautiful, chaotic expression of joy, but from a mechanical and physiological standpoint, it is a nightmare for a diabetic. First, there’s the physics of the pit. You are essentially a human pinball. Elbows, hydration packs, and belt buckles are all potential "hooks" for your pump tubing. Even if you use a tubeless pump, the sheer force of bodies pressing against each other can dislodge a pod or a CGM sensor.
Then there’s the sweat. Festivals are humid, high-exertion environments. When your skin becomes a slip-and-slide, even the strongest medical-grade adhesives begin to fail.
Physiologically, the pit presents a dual challenge. The "fight or flight" adrenaline of being in a high-energy crowd often causes a sharp spike in blood sugar as your liver dumps glucose to keep up with the excitement. However, the actual physical exertion of jumping and dancing for three hours straight acts like a massive dose of cardio, which eventually sends those numbers crashing down. Navigating this "V-shaped" blood sugar curve while being squashed between strangers is an art form.
After my infusion set tragedy, I retired the "pump clipped to the waistband" look forever. The hero of my festival kit is now a dedicated, front-facing fanny pack.
Why a fanny pack? Unlike a backpack, which can be grabbed or pulled from behind, a fanny pack stays in your "safe zone"—your front. It allows you to protect your pump with your own arms if the crowd gets too rowdy.
When shopping for the ultimate festival pack, look for these non-negotiables:
My 'Double-Bagging' Trick: To keep my gear bone-dry in the "sweat box" of a crowd, I place my backup supplies (test strips, extra site, and insulin pen) inside a heavy-duty Ziploc bag before putting them in the fanny pack. It’s a low-tech solution that has saved my electronics during many unexpected festival downpours and high-humidity sets.

If you’re heading into a pit, your standard adhesive isn't going to cut it. You need to "mosh-proof" your body.
I start with a liquid adhesive (like Skin Tac) to create a tacky base on the skin before applying my infusion set and CGM. Once the sites are on, I apply a high-quality "over-patch"—a large, flexible fabric patch that covers the entire site. This provides a second layer of defense; if someone’s hand brushes against your pump, they’ll hit the smooth patch rather than the edge of the plastic.
Strategic Site Placement: For festivals, I’ve moved my sites from my stomach to my upper thigh. The stomach is a high-contact area in a crowd (think of people pushing past you). The thigh is generally more protected and allows you to wear high-waisted shorts or pants that provide an extra layer of structural support for the device.
The 'Tubing Tuck': This is the most critical step for pump users. Never leave even an inch of tubing exposed. I loop my tubing and tape it down to my skin with medical tape, then thread the remainder directly into the fanny pack through a tiny, self-made hole in the back of the bag (or through the zipper). If there’s no exposed "loop" of tubing, there’s nothing for a stray button to snag.

Space is a premium in a fanny pack, so you have to be smart about what goes inside.

Managing your levels during a set is a game of anticipation.
The 'Mosh Pit Spike': When the music starts and the lights go up, my blood sugar almost always climbs. This is pure adrenaline. I used to aggressively bolus for this, only to crash 45 minutes later. Now, I’ve learned to "ride the spike" slightly. I might take a very small correction, but I keep in mind that the physical movement will eventually drag that number down.
The 'Afterburn' Effect: This is the real danger. About two hours after the music stops, your muscles begin to replenish their glycogen stores, pulling sugar out of your bloodstream. This is when the "post-festival low" hits. I always make sure to eat a balanced snack with protein and complex carbs (like a peanut butter bar) immediately after the set to buffer this crash.
Hydration Hacks: Dehydration makes your blood sugar harder to manage and can lead to false high readings. I carry flavored electrolyte packets to mix into the overpriced water bottles sold at the venue. Staying hydrated keeps your insulin absorbing predictably.
You shouldn't have to manage this alone. My "festival crew" knows the drill. We’ve developed a Hand Signal System because you can’t explain a hypoglycemic episode while a heavy metal band is playing at 110 decibels.
Teaching your friends how to access your fanny pack and identifying which pocket holds the glucose gel is a five-minute conversation that can save an entire weekend.

The second the lights go up and the crowd starts to disperse, I do my "Post-Mosh Inspection." I check:
I also force myself to have a 15-minute "cool-down" period before I make any major insulin corrections. Giving your body a moment to transition from "fight or flight" back to "rest and digest" ensures you don't over-correct a temporary adrenaline spike.
For a long time, I felt like my diabetes meant I had to stay at the back of the crowd, near the exits, playing it safe. But T1D is a variable, not a barrier. By using the right gear—like a secured fanny pack and reinforced sites—you can reclaim the experiences that make you feel alive.
The mosh pit is a place of connection, energy, and freedom. With a little bit of tactical prep and a "safety-first" mindset, you can be right there in the center of it, feeling the bass in your chest, knowing that your health is as secure as your favorite fanny pack.
What’s your go-to festival hack? Do you have a favorite over-patch brand or a secret snack that keeps you stable? Let us know in the comments below, and let’s keep the music playing!
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