Music: “Running on Empty” by Jackson Browne
“Caleb, tell them about the stupid thing you did on Friday.”
“Zac, tell them about the stupid thing I did on Friday.”
Sometimes people have stories that they don’t care to recount themselves. There are certain instances where I prefer to let someone else who knows my tale take center stage as I call out clarifications from the wings.
I had gone through most of the work day without the story popping up and still hoped to avoid the storytelling spotlight.
RING!
I scrambled for the phone.
“News desk how can I… aww, crap!”
My friend Zac had apparently picked up the phone just before I did and was on the line with the unknown speaker.
“Looks like you’re going to have tell the story yourself.”
Again, I scrambled for the phone.
“News desk. How can I help you?” I asked the silent line. I wasn’t fooling anybody, but the action bought me enough time to center myself slightly.
“Okay, you know how Zac gave me a ride last Friday because it was so cold…?”
Earlier in the week, with all the horrible weather we’d been having, I was warned by several people (including the publisher) that I was to be sure to accept a ride home should the weather turn bad. I promised to do so and on Friday night, when around supper time it was 9 degrees below zero (on the Fahrenheit scale), I start making arrangements for a ride.
I finished the front page a touch earlier than usual and was allowed to go home even before the jump was finished (largely for the sake of my ride who stayed a touch later than usual).
We walked out to the vehicle, let it warm up, and got to my neighborhood without a hitch. Parked in the middle of the street (for the driveway looked too treacherous to park on, however briefly), me and my friend made plans to catch up on Saturday to rent movies, play games, whatever. I warned him my phone had been acting a bit funky, but otherwise I had no other concerns as I entered the house.
I’d had just enough time to take off my boots and put a movie in the DVD player when I realized I’d left my cell phone in my desk.
The next few decisions were made quickly so as to bypass actual cognitive functions.
There were no land phone line in the house (that's why I'd bought a cell phone in the first place). My roommate was expected to work late at the paper to at least 2 a.m. so I couldn’t trouble him. I knew my boss always worked a little bit late. I knew I was home earlier than usual and only a mile from the paper. Other factors like elevation, wind conditions, and most importantly weather were considered only after I was out the door and jogging down the icy sidewalks.
Subconsciously I was employing an old cross country trick. If one can keep from contemplating the distance until you are at least half way, or an equal distance from the starting point and the finish line, you might as well finish the race as turn back around. Also, if the course finishes downhill, well, that's all the more incentive to keep running.
This running repression is foolish, but effective. It kept me from thinking about my physical condition until I’d traveled over half the distance to the newspaper; I didn’t consider the mile-plus altitude until I was three fourths of the way there; and the temperature of the cold air I was consistently pulling into my lungs didn’t bother me until the final 300 meters.
As I approached work, I got a look at the electronic time and temperature sign we have posted above the entrance. The facts didn’t really hit me until I got through the doors and into the (heated!!!!) entryway: it was 11 degrees below zero (Fahrenheit – or negative 23.8 degree Celsius) and it had only taken 12 minutes from the moment I realized my phone wasn’t in my pocket to the time I was huffing and puffing in the indoor stairwell.
I waited about a minute to pull myself together before heading up to the newsroom. My boss and my roommate/landlord/staff photographer were there and their shocked looks were not unexpected.
“Forgot my phone,” I explained with a voice that was fainter than I would have preferred.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes… maybe… no…” I said before I started guzzling the bottle of Tang I’d left at my desk. The lukewarm liquid was well welcomed by my frosted throat.
My boss offered me another ride home, which was even more quickly accepted than the previous offer.
I was told the weather wasn’t as big a factor as the temperature of the air. When one is running, one inhales oxygen more rapidly than normal. In this cooler weather, ice crystals can start to form in your lungs when air is pulled in so quickly that the body doesn’t have time to warm it.
“That would explain certain sensations I was feeling toward the end of my run,” I said in a slightly stronger voice.
On the ride back, I thanked my boss for saving me from my stupidity. She told me not to worry about it. She told me how she’d pulled a similar stunt when she first moved to the area. On a day when she was feeling sick, she still stubbornly went out to cover an event. I wasn’t told specifically how long it took her to recover from this act, but it made me feel better about my foolish actions.
So I’ve now set a new personal record for endurance and stupidity. Here’s hoping I don’t test these limits again anytime soon.
