Yesterday, after the email arrived noting that YaYa’s baseball game was rained out, I let out a celebratory “Woo Hoo!” and quickly set my sights on a night with the gang at the Lenten Soup Night. Sadly, I’ve missed all but one of these weekly gatherings so far, thanks to the sport living up to the “baseball is life” tradition.
Well my “Woo Hoo” came a little too early in the afternoon, for soon after I began sending texts to let the gang know to expect us, another email arrived: We would have practice instead. I tried looking on the bright side noting that at least the sun was coming out.
Of course, as usual, I was running late. When the time came to go, I left work in a hurried frenzy leaving my bag of sweaty running clothes and bloody Bikilas behind on my office chair. I hesitated at my car and then thought better of returning for them. I was already LATE! Besides, who in their right mind would take a bag of stinky clothes and blood footwear? Good point. Right?
Well, you know where this is going. Why else would I write about it?
Yeah, so I returned to the office this morning only to find my chair empty. I held back the urge to panic and began thinking of other explanations for the missing bag. Maybe I put them in one of drawers and just don’t remember. Nope. Or maybe I left the bag in the bathroom. Or by my colleague’s desk. Or…? Maybe someone is playing a joke on me and has hidden them in one of the empty offices. Or their cubicle. Or…?
By this point, panic begins to race through my body. Tears are making their way up towards my eyes as I think about how I am already struggling to break my race wear in on time for Boston. Must I mention that race day is only 24 days away? Then there is the fact that these things cost money. *sigh*
I do another search through the department and return to my desk kicking myself for not returning for them last night. And then I notice something in my recycle bin. You guess it; my goodie bag was IN the recycle bin. I gave my long lost friends a warm embrace, kissed the toes of my Bikilas, and looked them safely in my car.
Lord only knows how or why the bag was there. Nobody here, even the women who jokingly hid my bra from me while I was out for a lunchtime run, will admit having anything to do with it. I honestly don’t really care. What was lost is now found, and that’s all that matters.
really? the recycle bin? strange. maybe a sign that despite the initial breaking in period, those bikilas are keepers and meant for boston.
I hate it when that happens… glad you found everything! I think I will wear my Bikilas for one mile tomorrow!