Monday, March 15, 2010
Thieves and Scooby Doo
Got out for my weekly long training run on Saturday along the Gateway Trail. Overall, it's a pretty decent trail. I've got three mile out and back loops marked in two different directions. Most of the people walking are pretty good, although it seems this section has a few more casual trail users than other sections...dog walkers, teenagers being teenagers, overweight couples still clinging to their New Year's resolutions, etc. This Saturday it was pretty warm out, so I took my windbreaker off after 3 miles and tied it to a tree trunk next to my Gatorade bottle that I had also wedged into a split in the tree trunk. As bikers and runners, I think we've all done this. It's a common thing here in the cities to see bottles and extra clothing tied to signs, benches, trees, basically anything permanent. At the end of 9 miles, I came back and noticed that my Gatorade bottle had been removed from the tree and was now lying on it's side in the mud. Also, my windbreaker was gone. Stolen! Some thieves steal cars. Some rob banks. Who steals used, sweaty clothing?!? The windbreaker turned out to be one of my Whistlestop Marathon "finisher" jackets from 2008. It really wasn't that nice and has very little value. The half zipper was cheap and broke a long time ago. The elastic band on the bottom broke last year. It's also made of very cheap material. But it kept out the wind and I didn't think twice about getting it sweaty or dirty. If there's anything positive about the situation, it helped with the rest of my run. It was my first 20-miler of the year, and the remaining 11 miles of "life without windjacket" went very well because it kept my mind off running. After a few miles I realized that my jacket was most likely gone forever and that I had a better chance of finding my jacket by hiring the Scooby Doo gang. I thought about ways how they would nab the crook. Would they wait in the bushes and surprise them? Would they wear disguises and sneek up on them. Would they use the "mystery machine"? As I finished the last couple of miles of my run, I envisioned a teenage boy with acne and a cracking voice wearing my old windbreaker. One day he was a mere dirtball trying to make a statement in this world. The next day, he's got chicks hangin' off both arms and makin' up stories about being a marathoner. Maybe it's just fate. Oh well, time to wear the other Whistlestop Marathon windjacket. That one's got a broken zipper too.