I walked the quarter mile downhill to my car this morning to motor off to the gym, and as I turned the key in the ignition I realized I'd forgotten my gaggalicious soy protein beverage.

I Should Have Taken That As An Omen Of Things To Come.

For the briefest of moments I toyed with the notion of marching back up to the house, but that fit of temporary insanity passed quickly and instead I headed down to the gym.

Once there, I rifled through my locker, dragging out my newly Odour-Eatered sneakers, CD player and workout CD before tossing in my purse and non-workout apparel.

The click of my lock snapping shut occurred simultaneously with the realization that all my keys were in my purse.

All my keys.

This would include the key that would open the lock to my locker.

If looks of horror had the power to open locks, every lock in that locker room would have simultaneously popped open right then and there. Sadly, we don't live in that kind of universe.

My only option was to go to the administration office of the gym and admit my stupidity. The office, of course, was packed with people because what's the point of doing something stupid and only confessing your stupidity to one person?

Exactly.

So I admitted what I had done and after explaining to not one, not two, not three but FOUR different people how I could be stupid enough to lock my locker key in my locker, I asked if they had any bolt cutters so I could cut my lock off.

They didn't.

Uh oh.

So there I was in a tiny village in a foreign country, with all my ID, money, and my non-gym clothing locked away in a locker I could not open. The hinges were designed so you couldn't take the pins out. There were no screwheads visible anywhere. I was up ca ca creek without a paddle.

Visions of having to phone the spousal unit up in Canada to tell him he would have to bring a bolt cutter through the American border and undo my stupidity danced in my head.

I think we can all well imagine the stir that the appearance of a bolt cutter at the Canada-U.S. border might create right now.

You know, it's not that he wouldn't go through the hassle for me, because he would. But the thing is, I'm in my 50's now and frankly I don't have enough years ahead of me to live down the sort of teasing I would have to endure from him over the whole situation.

There Had To Be Another Way.

I looked out at the gym parking lot and noticed there were several pickup trucks and they had tool cases in their backs. Ah, there were clearly some handy guys working out. Maybe one of them had a bolt cutter with him. Of course, to find this out, I was going to have to confess my stupidity to people I mostly only know by their first names.

I weighed the situation carefully--Plan A: endure endless teasing from the spousal unit, or Plan B: confess my stupidity to casual acquaintances in the hope one of them could help me out.

Plan B it was.

Fortunately, one of the guys had a bolt cutter in with his tools. Whew.

When I got home I decided I'd better tell the story to the spousal unit before he heard about it from one of our friends, since many of them read The Big Adventure. I told him that tomorrow I would buy a combination lock, which would make it impossible for me to ever lock my key in the locker again.

There was a pause. "And where are you going to keep the combination, up here?" he asked, tapping his temple.

Uh oh. Oh man, if I ever forget the combination, he'll never let me live it down.

Guess I'd better keep a set of bolt cutters in my trunk too, eh?

--Marn

Mileage on the Marnometer: 167.25 miles (269.1 kilometers)
Goal for 2003: 500 miles - 804.5 kilometers