The Day I Out Ran the Cops
One day a few weeks ago I was doing speed work in the park. It's ideal for it when a track isn't convenient. It's 1.5 miles around, and almost perfectly flat. One one trip down the eastern long side of the park, I saw a few cop cars parked next to each other. Then I saw two more drive in and park by them. Then about 6 more. What was going on?? Was there some sort of danger? Was I going to get to watch some super exciting bust go down? What?
As I was making my way around on my next lap, going somewhere between a 7:00 and 7:30 pace (speed work), I can hear this guy huffing and puffing behind me, heavy foot falls, the whole deal. He passes me, then hangs on right in front of me through the end of my interval, then kept going when I slowed down. I did my recovery, then the next interval, and it happened again, with another dude. WHAT WAS GOING ON? So I come to the corner of the park again and see one of the cops standing there with a clip board. I ask the guy what they're doing. Fitness assessments. Some sort of incentive program they're part of. I said, "Oh, then that's why your guys were so adamant about chasing me down." He laughed.
But then it occurred to me, only two of them passed me, and they just hung on. I out ran the rest of the cops. They better be glad runners aren't generally the criminal type, 'cause I'm pretty sure I just saw exactly how that chase would go down. Unless they shot me.
It Wasn't Exactly On My Bucket List...
I was out for my long run one Saturday morning. It was about 7:50 and I was 6 miles in. This was the end of the first loop of my planned 13 miles, and by far the toughest, so I was feeling pretty good about my pace and whatnot. I wasn't thinking about anything in particular; I rarely do when I run long distances. Until, oh shit, seriously?
I looked down, and just a few feet before me on a side street laid four small, plastic, zip-top style baggies filled with a white powder. I stopped cold and stared for a second, then moved in, bent down a bit to get a closer look. They've got pot leaves printed across the top! I backed up a step, looked around to see who was there. No one. Just me and some random cocaine. Here in sweet little Salt Lake. I'm looking at bags of drugs on the street.
What else could it be? I think to myself. Kids have toy replicas of all sorts of shit they shouldn't have real versions of--guns, knives, but not crack! Why would someone have anything like this that wasn't drugs? It's not like someone says to a friend, hey, do you have any miniature bags around that I could use for my tiny sandwiches? No one carries sugar to a cookie swap in tiny baggies. No. Holy shit! There are drugs on the sidewalk!
So I turn around and run back to my house--less than a mile--to get a phone and call the cops. The lady asks me where I saw this, and asked me to describe it, and to slow down because apparently I was speaking too quickly. Then she says, So, you saw the bags, and left them there?Yeah lady, I left them there! Sure did!
What, was I supposed to carry them home? To, you know, that place where I live with small children?? Pick them up and wait to get beaten by whatever poor decision-maker had dropped them in the first place? Pick them up and wait for a cop to drive by and think they were mine? Nope nope nope nope nope. Sure did lady, I left them the *%#$ there.
So later I called my best friend and told her all of this. Her response was really spot on, Well, now you can just cross that off the old bucket list. Finding drugs and calling the cops on a run. Checked 'er off.
