"Hi there, what's your name?"  The policeman asked me with a friendly tone after getting out of his car and walking over to me.

I had seen him drive by as I was jogging along on the sidewalk.  When he put his lights on and did a u-turn to come back in my direction, somehow I knew he wanted to talk to me.  I wasn't worried as I knew I hadn't done anything wrong.  In fact, in the back of my mind I was thinking, "Hmmm, this might make a good story for my blog."

Why would a policeman want to talk to me when I'm just out for a jog, just jogging down to the grocery store to pick up a few things?  It probably had something to do with the fact that I don't throw away clothing just because it's a little ratty and has some old paint splatter on it.  I was jogging in grey nylon pants and a lightweight, dark-grey hiking jacket, both of which double as work clothes.  And then there was my facial stubble; I hadn't shaved in a few days.  (My skin doesn't enjoy being shaved, so I try to give it a break when I can.)  To add to my rugged (see ruffian) look, I was wearing a toque and a pair of half-rubber-half-cloth gardening gloves.  Sure, there were other joggers going by in shorts and shirts, but I have trouble keeping warm sometimes, especially my head and hands. OK, I had misjudged the weather; it was warmer than I'd thought it would be. 

"Do you have any I.D. on you?"  The policeman asked.  I was in Tswassen, BC visiting my Aunt and Uncle. Unfortunately, there was no chance of them driving by as they were already at church.  What a neat surprise that would have been for them to see me stopped by a policeman.

"No," I answered, smiling.  I considered asking him if I.D. is required to jog around these here parts but decided against it.

"Just out for a run?"

Here I considered complimenting him on his fine grasp of the obvious, but he was being very respectful, almost embarrassed about it all.  And, as I mentioned, I wasn't exactly dressed like your typical jogger (although I was at least wearing a pair of bona fide running shoes, and fairly new ones at that).   "Yeah, I am," I simply said. 

He went on to inform me that he was looking for someone who looked like me - 6'2', 200lbs.  "And quite handsome in a quirky, unruly way?" I thought of adding.  Instead, I told him that I'm only 170 lbs (which has a lot to do with why I have trouble staying warm sometimes).  As he walked back to his car I remembered I had some business cards in my pocket and offered to give him one.  He politely declined and told me he trusted me.

He drove off and I jogged onward.  I didn't get very far.  So engrossed I was in what had just happened and how I might write about it (and how I could make it read more dramatic that it was) that I did not pay close attention to the upcoming intersection.  What I remember is that I looked up as I came to the intersection and saw that the light had just gone from green to yellow, but I can't say for sure.  Because I was already running, I knew I could cross the intersection very quickly.  However, there was a car to my left that made a right turn as I ran onto the street in front of it.  I don't know if he had his signal light on or not, I wasn't paying close attention.  I put my hands out to absorb the impact and jumped back at the same time.  I almost kept my feet, but he nudged me a little more before he came to a stop and next thing I knew I was laid out on the road (this is why I prefer trail running).  As you can imagine, we were both surprised and shaken.  He said a couple of times that his light had been green, so one of us had misread the situation, probably me.  Fortunately, nothing was broken, just a little sore. 

We both apologized like good Canadians and I walked off thinking that I'd had more than enough adventure to write about for one day.  The irony in the fact that I had just been writing about conversations with Death earlier that morning did not escape me.  Perhaps I need to pay closer attention to what I'm writing.

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