Last night I packed my bag. I checked to make sure I had everything I could possibly need. I did. Then I checked again this morning. I still had what I needed.
After a very healthy breakfast, another check of everything, and a friendly reminder from the wife as we left about everything I had just checked, we left and locked the door.
I got a seat on the bus, put my bag down behind me (foreshadowing much?) and started reading the Times on my phone.
At the last stop, which happens to be mine, I got off thinking about the ice coffee I was going to enjoy. And then it hit me.
My bag, complete with perfectly worn in shoes, shorts, and lucky race shirt was on the 2 Bus heading to the beginning of the route, the depot, or God-knows where. So I took off running while calling 411 for the phone number of the Muni lost and found.
Sprinting down Spear Street, I took a sharp right on Mission while talking to the operator getting the number for Muni which I didn't connect with. I took another sharp right stopping to talk to some bus drivers on Main Street. They told me to call 311 and the bus will most likely be exactly where I started my dead sprint. So I called 311 as I was sprinting back to Market and saw the bus pulling up to its stop. I jumped into the street and kicked up the speed and got there as the driver was about to call the cops.
Then I got that ice coffee, and a cookie. As I was taking the elevator up to my office I was extremely thankful that my absent mindedness didn't lead to a potential terrorist threat on my bus line. I was also pretty pleased that my little speed workout didn't hurt.