Runnin' like Michael Jackson

Over the past few days, I've experienced the whole gamut of emotions. Getting ready for the Jingle Bell Run on Saturday, I foolishly tucked one of my gloves under my arm so that I could set up my phone to record the run. These gloves were a Christmas gift from my brother and I absolutely love them. I always used to have ice cube hands when I ran in the morning, fall or winter. Since these gloves and I have become running partners, frosty fingers have not been a problem.

Before starting a run, I usually place one glove safely in the pocket of my jacket while I press the tiny phone buttons, but before this one, I was talking to another runner and wasn't paying much attention to what I was doing. After the run got started, I reached into the pocket looking for the glove, and it wasn't there! I had dropped it as soon as I started to stride into the run. I assumed that one of the other runners or more likely one of the walkers would pick it up and turn it in at the finish (no one wants a single glove), so I didn't go back for it and continued the race with one glove and one frigid hand.

After everyone had finished the race and we'd done a little raffle, the guy running everything asked if anyone had found a glove. No one said that they had, but one guy said that he had seen one right at the beginning of the race. I must have looked for my wayward glove in the biting wind and snow for thirty minutes to no avail. It had completely deserted me.

While I was in the gym, the race organizer called me and left a voice mail that he had found a glove after I had left. Some good Samaritan had left it on the crank to his trailer and he noticed it there when he hooked it to his truck. When I got the message, I was ecstatic. My glove would be recovered. I gratefully picked up a stray glove from his house later that day.

After work today, I came home and got all suited up for a short run, excited to run with my lost-and-found glove. It was very cold and there was about two inches of fluffy, white snow on the ground. I took special care to put my reclaimed glove in my pocket so that I could start the phone recording without fear of losing it again. I started running and reached into the pocket to get the glove and put it over my already freezing hand. It wouldn't go on my right hand; it was a left-handed glove! The glove I had picked up, thinking it was my own, is a nearly identical women's Manzella Windstopper glove. A woman had also lost a glove at the beginning of the race and it just happened to be the same brand and model as mine. Since there were only about 20-25 runners/walkers, this coincidence is almost too much to believe. I'm going to have to call the race organizer back and see if he can assist in reuniting two wayward gloves with their cold-fingered owners.