submitted by Rebecca Kane~
I’m sitting on the front steps, lacing up my Asics in anticipation for an eight mile run, when I spy my neighbor, Gary. He waves as he hauls his kayak onto his car, gearing up for another white-knuckle, white-water excursion, guaranteed to supply him with a buzz equivalent to downing four Redbulls. Whenever I become envious of Gary’s extreme expeditions, I remind myself of the day I found the box.
Adrenaline junkies insist that running is boring. Maybe so. Runners rarely defy death by dangling off a cliff while struggling for a foothold. Jogging along a dirt trail hardly equals the thrill quotient of plunging down single-track at break-neck speed while perched on a Santa Cruz. And, what is a sport without a ball, points to score or an opponent committing any offense just to bring you down?
Let’s face it – even the victory celebrations for running races are dull. Crazed, inebriated fans seldom break windows or turn over cars in downtown New York after the finish of the New York Marathon. My eight-year-old son’s season finale soccer party at Pizza Hut was more memorable than the Haagen-Daazs I consumed after setting a PR in the Bolder Boulder.
Not to say that running can’t have its occasional dramas. What runner hasn’t had their share of critter capers? Like the charging dog that mistakes your leg for his rawhide bone. Then there are the occasional weather forecasting mishaps. One afternoon, while I was running along a stretch of road in Oklahoma, some innocent looking clouds just off the horizon blew in. At mile two, the wind was driving rain into my face like darts into a dart board, power lines were fizzling and lightning was striking every 20 seconds. By mile three, when the sky turned the color of spinach and hail was setting Guinness World Records, I surrendered and ducked into a barn.
What Gary and other thrill seekers fail to understand, is that most runners are not expecting any thrills or spills during their routines. The only buzz they get might be a runner’s high. If an adventure does occur, its unexpectedness is the prize. For example, like the day I found the box.
I was out jogging a familiar loop when my wandering thoughts were interrupted by a maroon backpack, discarded in a ditch. I diverted from the path for closer inspection. Foul language scrolled on the pack forewarned me of the consequences of opening it, so I obliged and continued on my run.
I ran for a mere mile, taunted by a little voice in my head that kept repeating “what’s inside?” before I doubled back. I lifted the pack and it weighed a ton. As I unzipped it, tiny food ants swarmed out, causing me to drop it in revulsion. A plastic gray box with a padlock slipped out. That was enough for me. I left it lying and shot off for home – at Olympic record speed. Why were there ants in there? Were there human body parts inside? Maybe it was just a lunch box . . . pretty hefty lunch box!
Out of breath, I dialed 911 and bashfully explained to dispatch that “it wasn’t an emergency . . . it could be nothing.” Much to my chagrin (and to the neighborhood kids’ delight) two squad cars pealed into my cul-de-sac. I climbed into one and directed the officers to the scene. As I waited, both patrolwomen cautiously approached the box. Then the blonde shouted to the brunette, “Call the bomb squad!” I shuddered to think that I had dropped that box next to my foot. Minutes later a white van pulled up and additional forces piled out. Four men, clad in bomb protective gear, slinked suspiciously towards the suspect box. One brave Lieutenant boldly leaned over, picked it up and carried it back towards the vehicles.
“It’s a cash box,” he shouted over to me. “It must be full of money because it weighs so much.”
Visions of greenbacks danced in my head! The Lieutenant promised to call me after he opened it in a safer environment.
For the next couple of days my thoughts were fringed with a gold lining. How rich was I? Would anyone claim the box? How would I spend my fortune? By the end of the week my patience ran out, so I dialed the police station. The Lieutenant broke the news gently – the box had contained nothing. The sound of my bubble bursting was loud enough to set off a Tsunami. A deflated ending for a seemingly Scorsese script.
I agree – running may appear to be tedious, monotonous and downright dull. But, if you always participate in a sport where you expect the mother load of adrenaline highs, you will never experience the thrill of an unplanned adventure. The unexpected dramas can pack the most powerful punch.
