This story begins with a silly choice. Earlier this evening I drove into Kentville to run a trail one of the girls in the running group had told me about. It was my first time on the trail and I found it very enjoyable, the ground was level and pleasant and there were a few families, dog walkers, and other people out for a stroll.
Before I began I decided to take my car key off the ring and hid the remaining keys, my cell and purse under a coat and locked the car. My thought was that it would be easier to run with one key and I would be less likely to drop or lose a single key -I was wrong.
I didn’t notice my mistake till 1.5 km later at the end of the trail. I walked back slowly searching and asking any one if they had seen it. No one had. I prayed as I walked and just assumed with each bend that I would find it around the next turn. When I reached my car with out success began to feel just a little frantic. I had no real choice but to walk back over the trail a second time. My prayers were now out of desperation and the only thing that kept me somewhat calm and fearless. It was through the conversation that I thought out my options if the key wasn’t found. It is an odd thing to be in a place of turmoil and peace in the same moment. It was a all an huge oxymoron. I was fine and I wasn’t fine. I realized it wasn’t that big of a deal but at the same time it was. I knew everything would work out…but would it really?
On this last walk through one of the dog walkers I stopped to ask about the key offered to meet me at the other end of the trail and drive me if that would help. He said if I wasn’t there he would assume I had found it and that he had a daughter my age (I am sure he guessed my age wrong, most people do) and would hope someone would help her. The offer was kind but it also had me worried. I didn’t know the man and who knew what could happen. This just added to my prayers. The trail ends in downtown Kentville, the man wasn’t there. I guess I took too long walking…I was relieved.
I walked to the library which I knew was open on Mondays. Sadly they closed at 5pm and it was close to 8pm. I almost went to the funeral home, where a member of the church worked (I just called there place and learned that I should have) but I was afraid of crashing a wake in my bright orange running pants (there was no wake). So I chose the local Tim Hortons, and called the only number I knew by heart…and had to leave a message on the machine. The funny thing about this is the father of the family I had just called was working at the funeral home I was afraid of visiting. I left a message.
As I thought of who to call next, someone from my church who was at Tim’s asked if I was okay. I told him and his friends my tale of the lost key. None of them had a car but one let me use their cell phone and they bought me a tea. I called Danielle who came to my rescue, drove me home, helped me break into my house (which is the second time in two weeks), and drove me back to my car.
The story has a happy ending: When we got back to my car another car waiting. One of the families I had past had found the key. They had looked for me but when they couldn’t find me they had dropped it off at the police stations. They had just come back to leave a note for me on my car. What was lost is now found…and I will pick it up tomorrow.
Life Lesson: When running where a single key on a string around ones neck. I know for next time.
Visit Sunday Scribbles for more stories from those who probably showed greater amounts of fearlessness.