Do I run for it? The split-second decision every commuter must make

Do I run for it? The split-second decision every commuter(kəˈmyo͞odər) must make

By Anne Farrer

There’s nothing more frightening(ˈfrītn) and paradoxically(ˌperəˈdäksik(ə)lē) life-affirming(əˈfərm) to any commuter – but especially a Vancouver(vanˈko͞ovər) SeaBus passenger(ˈpasinjər) – than noting the time to the next departure(dəˈpärCHər). You know that, with a hurried(ˈhərēd) pace(pās,ˈpäˌCHā,ˈpāˌsē), anything over the minute mark on the countdown clock means you will be able to slide(slīd) onto the ferry(ˈferē) just before they pull shut the doors and depart. But anything under that one-minute mark requires a decision.

Are you running to catch it? Or do you wait the 15 minutes for the next one?

Fifteen minutes is not such a long time to wait, really. The tougher(təf) decision comes later at night, when the consequences of idleness(ˈīdlnəs) or indecision stretch(streCH) to 30 minutes between sailings(ˈsāliNG). Missing that one hurts like a bald(bôld)-faced hornet(ˈhôrnət) sting(stiNG). But it is the decision that is crucial(ˈkro͞oSHəl). In the nanosecond(ˈnanōˌsekənd) in which you register(ˈrejəstər) the verdict(ˈvərdikt) of the clock, you must make your decision.

Will you run? Or do you let it go? Any delay can make the decision moot. Seconds are crucial. Each step(step) can make or break your fate(fāt). There are seldom(ˈseldəm) such defining moments in your life. Will you grasp(grasp) the brass(bras) ring, or will you … oh, I just can’t be bothered … give up? The tiny moment then forever crystallized(ˈkrɪstəˌlaɪzd) as another example of resignation(ˌrezəɡˈnāSH(ə)n) to one’s march(märCH) toward death. Will you run? Is this time in your life precious(ˈpreSHəs) enough to fight for? Will you run?

00:37.

Damn(dam) it. I’m going to miss it. Am I going to miss it? Should I run? Oh God, am I going to run? Is there enough time? Do I need to catch this one? Ahhh. I’m running. I’m running. Oh, why am I wearing heels(hēl) today?

This is no problem. Look at me, I’m powerful and strong. I can run. I am running.

Ahh. A needle(ˈnēdl) of pain as I immediately roll(rōl) my right ankle(ˈaNGkəl) – it never healed(hēl) properly after breaking it at adult learn-to-skate(skāt) hockey(ˈhäkē). A stutter(ˈstədər) step, but quick recovery. No time to chastise(CHasˈtīz) myself for lack of physio(ˈfɪzioʊ) follow-through. Run. Run. The sound of those who’ve also scented(ˈsentid) despair and broken into a run echoes down the walkway. They’re coming. They’re coming. They’re here. They’re here. We are running. We run. We are runners.

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https://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/first-person/article-do-i-run-for-it-the-split-second-decision-every-commuter-must-make/