the ark of mark

This week I went for a run through a nearby neighborhood.  Before I tell you what happened I should give you a little background on a long-held dream of mine.

Somewhere in my past there was a shopping center with a posted speed limit of only 10 mph.  I used to run by this speed limit sign occasionally, back in the days when I could have actually run the ten miles per hour for a whole hour.

Every time I ran by this 10 mph sign I would look around in hopes of finding a police officer.  My plan was to approach the officer in a friendly manner and ask whether he would be willing to write me a warning if he clocked me exceeding 10 mph on foot.  As a runner, I just thought it would be extremely cool to have a framed warning for excessive speed on foot.  Heck, I might have even been willing to pay a $75 fine in order to have formal documentation that a safety officer deemed my speed excessive.

Alas, I never got the opportunity.  And I hadn’t thought about that goal in years.

So this week I was running through the aforementioned neighborhood.  I noticed a parked car that had been sideswiped and a light pole that was knocked down.  I rounded a turn and saw what was a likely response to reckless driving in the area.  The police department had placed one of those trailer-mounted, portable, speed indication devices on the side of the road to display to drivers how fast they were going.

Well, then.

One unknown in my scheme to get a running citation was whether a police radar would even register a human running past.  So this was my chance to answer that question.  (The speed limit was 25 so the possibility of earning a citation was way out of the question).

A quick glance confirmed that no cars were approaching.  I swerved out into the middle of the road where the radar could see me.  It jumped from zero to eight miles an hour.  Success!  The radar could see me.  So that was that.

Except it wasn’t.

Looking back, there really was no reason for me to do anything but continue on at my normal pace.  My question about radar visibility was answered.  But something about having a radar and giant digital display staring me in the face was sort of an unspoken challenge.

Nine mph.  Ten.  Eleven.  Twelve.  I was rapidly approaching the radar but thought I had enough time left to hit a nice round 15 mph.

Do you remember how when you were a kid and had those little rubber band airplanes, you always could tell when the rubber band was nearing the end of its life because it started to develop little nicks in it?  For some reason I thought of that phenomenon and my hamstrings at the same time.  I decided that discretion was the better part of valor.  I saw a big 13 flash onto the display just as I started backing down and coasted past the radar.

I smiled and wondered if anybody in the nearby houses witnessed what I just did and how silly I must have looked.  I didn’t care.  I may have only gotten my speed up to 13, but for a few precious seconds I got my age down to about 18.

(Stop reading here if you want to end on a heartwarming high note).

Giddy with my unexpected, wacky, carefree attitude, I proceeded into a park where I coaxed a couple of teenagers into throwing their football to me as I ran by on an extended deep fly pattern.  The kid’s arm wasn’t quite up to the challenge, and I had to slow to wait on it.  Then as luck would have it the ball went into a Rawlings Eclipse and I was completely blinded while it was in front of the sun.  I winced and lurched as the ball one-hopped into my feet, and then bumbled around as I tried to pick it up with my sweaty hands.  So instead of being the cool runner guy who wanted to catch their football, I was pretty much just a random middle-aged dork that the teenagers no doubt are still snickering at even today.

And the age I felt went from 18 back up to somewhere higher than it actually is.  On the whole I guess I’m just thankful that I remembered how to get home.