Sometimes I fantasize about chasing a thief the way they do on TV. Would I really land him with a flying tackle, like I imagine? Would innocent bystanders turn as I shouted “Stop that man!”? Or would I chicken out and do nothing?
Photo Credit: bajan.wordpress.com
On Monday it actually happened, and I got to find out.
My client Melissa and I ran through Golden Gate Park carrying heavy backpacks. This seems silly until you learn that Melissa, a pert Brit, is training for a 350-mile adventure race across the Baja Peninsula. Silly in itself, but there you have it.
I called a halt on a sunny path so we could talk technique for a moment and slung my backpack into the grass, where it landed with a thud, appropriate to its contents, which were sixteen pounds of dumbbells. I left it there in the grass, innocent fool that I am, as Melissa and I strolled a minute and talked about body alignment.
Then we turned back. “Your pack is gone,” Melissa said.
I stared dumbly at the tuft of grass where my pack wasn’t. As I absorbed this disturbing information, Melissa added, “I think that guy has it.”
She pointed to a heavyset man in jeans and a sweatshirt jogging steadily away, already a good 75 yards off, but close enough that I could see my gray and red Camelbak on his shoulders.
Without a thought I sprinted after him. He was not moving fast; he was, after all, freighted with an extra 16-plus pounds. As my breath came fast and my heart started pounding, a plan snapped into place. I would sneak up in silence and surprise him.
The chase took somewhere between 30 seconds and an hour – can’t quite remember – and when I closed in, he was traversing a crosswalk and had no idea what was coming.
“Hey Buddy! Drop the pack!” I yelled in what I hoped was a leonine roar, and grabbed a strap before he could turn around. Not a bad strategy, it turned out, as he appeared shocked to be in the grips of a man six inches taller and 10 years younger than he. He struggled for just a moment and wriggled free. “I didn’t know it belonged to anybody!” he whined.
I turned back toward the sidewalk and past all the motorists pie-eyed in their cars. A guy walking by said, “He doesn’t look like a thief.”
All’s well that ends well. My pack is full and my fantasy is fulfilled. Melissa is still chuckling about the unfortunate thief, burdened by a payload of iron, who had to outrun a running coach.
Leave a Reply