adventure run

Yesterday I decided to try the running track at my health club at the Skydome. I didn't realize there was a track until recently; I've been doing my running on treadmills up to now when at the club.

The idea of running on a track intrigued me. It wouldn't be as interesting as running outdoors, of course, but it would be better than trying to run in the humid heat that has been hitting Toronto recently. Isn't it funny how quickly we forget weather? I remember complaining about how cold it was a while back, whining about the long winter, that I was tired of the chilly temperatures, where was summer? And now I can't wait for summer to be over; I'm tired of the heat.

Whinebitchwhinebitchwhine. But I digress.

So when I went to the club yesterday, I ask where the track is.

"It's not exactly a track," says the perky young guy behind the counter. "It's on up on the 5th floor. You have to sign in and out."

Not exactly a track? What the heck does that mean? I sign in and get a passcard, take the elevator to the fifth floor. I have to use the passcard to get the elevator to move, swiping it through a security attachment near the floor buttons.

When I get out, it's eerily silent. There's a curtained off corridor that turns sharply right, ending at a set of metal doors. I peek through the curtains, of course. Pretty dull...just some entertainment area with tables and chairs, all empty. I push through the metal doors, expecting to find myself on a running track similar to the one I remembered back from high school (the running track I despised, in fact), only indoors.

Instead, I find myself on the fifth floor of the Skydome crowd control area. Concession stands are clustered along the outside wall, abandoned, and I can see openings into the seated areas overlooking the empty playing field. There is no one around.

Somewhat disconcerted, I store my water bottle and towel on a First Aid table nearby, and start running. I leave my MP3 player off so I can hear what's going on around me; the absolute quiet makes me nervous.

It's kind of cool, looking out the windows at the Toronto landscape around the Skydome, definitely much more interesting than running on a treadmill. But the lack of people is unnerving. Also, only half the ceiling lights are on...the overall effect is one of running down a dimly lit alleyway, with lots of dark side streets (the cement ramps leading down to the exits). Part of the half-mile lap is in virtual darkness, part of the corridor which is obviously not used by the public, with no windows or doors. I run faster through that section.

Running without my MP3 player on, I can hear the sound of my running shoes hitting the floor: thwap thwap thwap. Dear lord, I sound like an elephant. I try to run more lightly, but it's too much effort. I go back to elephant mode: thwap thwap thwap.

Then I start imagining how I'd feel if I heard someone else's thwap thwap thwap down the corridor, coming up behind me. Hopefully another runner, but what if it wasn't? Then I imagine NOT hearing the thwaps, but having someone leap out of the darkness and surprise me. Yes, I have an overactive imagination. It's one reason I don't handle horror movies very well. I imagine what I would do if some big and hairy guy attacked me, here in the completely empty fifth floor of the Skydome, and pulled me down one of those ramps. No one would be able to hear me scream.

I make a vow to take a self-defense course. Why haven't I done so before this? I'm an idiot.

By this time, of course, I know that I'm not going to do more than one lap. As soon as I see my bottle of water and my towel, I grab them and head for the doors. Except the doors are locked! Half-panicked, I push and pull. They won't budge.

I'm frightened, then furious. How could the perky health club guy send me up here? I'm going to yell at him as soon as I get back to the health club reception area. IF I ever get back.

The anger clears my mind somewhat, then, and I remember the perky health club guy mentioning that I had to use my passcard to come back down. I look around and sure enough, there's a security card-swipe thingy on the wall nearby. I get the passcard out of my belt-pocket and swipe. The red light turns green, and the doors unlock.

Duh!

Back at the main reception, I hand in my passcard to the perky health club girl (the guy must be on break) and say that I'm going running on the treadmills instead, that the 5th floor is too creepy.

"Pretty dark, isn't it?" the girl sympathizes, taking my card. I feel like yelling THEN WHY DON'T YOU PEOPLE MAKE SURE ALL THE LIGHTS ARE ON BEFORE SENDING CLUB MEMBERS UP THERE! but I don't because I just want to get to the treadmills and start running.

It was a good run. I imagined that I was running down a dark alleyway, dodging big hairy guys. I could outrun all of them, of course.

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Today's Blatherpic:

This sign was hanging on one of the doors in the recording studio where Allison, Jodi and I recorded our tracks for Chris Conway's "Alien Jellyfish".