Racing the Monster

Though exams during my first year of law school were more stressful than they are this semester, the past couple of weeks have still been hectic enough to make me appreciate the runs I go on around Alumni Village, the university-owned complex where I live.

During the evenings, the Tallahassee Star Metro buses come inside the complex to drop off residents. The buses on the 9:20 pm run and the last run, the 10 pm one, are usually pretty empty. The bus drivers speed around the two-mile loop faster than they should, eager to get back to the station and end their shift.

If I am out doing my jogs at this time of night, I can hear the bus coming. Its engine roars at varying decibels as it negotiates curves and speed bumps. The hiss of its brakes I can hear from almost anywhere in the Village on a calm and still night.

When I hear the bus coming, I pick up the pace of my run. If I am close enough to the finish and the bus is visible behind me, I go into an all-out sprint. The driver probably thinks that I am strange, to see some guy running full throttle down the street in front of him.

But I don't like to be passed by the bus, and for two reasons. The first is that I have a bus to blame, I believe, for getting sick one of the worst times I have ever been sick in my life.

When I lived in Las Vegas, I would go for runs up Paradise Road, which is parallel to "The Strip" or Las Vegas Boulevard. I ran past the Hilton Hotel and Casino, with its huge electronic advertisement for Barry Manilow, past the Sands Convention Center, until I came to the near convergence of The Strip and Paradise Road at the Sahara Casino. If I jogged south on Paradise Road rather than north, I'd take a right on Flamingo Road, and run to the Bellagio and back.

On one such run in Vegas, a huge bus passed me and blasted an incredible amount of exhaust into my face. I felt particles go into my nose and down my throat. When I got back from my run, I could already feel my throat beginning to tighten and hurt. I caught a fever, lost my voice, and it put me out of action for a few days.

That was quite a scary time, to be sick like that. I had no family in Vegas- no family west of Knoxville, Tennessee for that matter- and no one cared about me out there. Except for my landlord and the coworkers at the car dealership where I worked, no one even knew I existed in that city.

So now, when these Star Tallahassee Metro buses pass me, I can smell that same exhaust, and I try to avoid breathing it.

The second reason is less serious. I make it a game to not let the bus pass me, to make me run faster. When I was a kid, I saw a movie called Duel. It was a made for television movie from the 1970s, but it was Steven Spielberg's first major work as a director (even before he did Jaws). It was a well-made film, better than most of the stuff that is in theaters now (You can see the trailer for the movie at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5MtAMc4i8OA, or watch the whole thing at http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=5370479393460637420#).

The film is about a salesman, driving alone across the desert in his small car, when for some reason he is targeted by a homicidal truck driver. The brilliance of the movie is that Spielberg makes the truck itself the character, not the driver. In fact, neither the audience nor the salesman ever sees the driver or learns his identity.

So, when I see the headlights of the bus flying around a curve in Alumni Village, when I hear the angry roar of its engine and the hiss of its brakes, I imagine that I am in a duel with it. Can I make it to the finish line and get off the road before it passes me and blasts exhaust into my face?

It's a neat little distraction from the stress of exams.

Universal Health Care Now,

Nathan Marshburn