A true story.

have a PhD in traffic school. While this is a great way to keep tickets off my Department of Motor Vehicles record, the problem is that I can’t get a ticket more than once every 18 months or else I cannot use traffic school to clear up the violation. So the first thing that went through my mind as the San Jose cop pulled me over was, Oh, no! It’s only nine months since my last ticket. I am screwed!

“How’s your day going?” the policeman asks me.

“T guess my day is about to get worse, isn’t it?”

“Do you know the speed limit on this road?” He gives me the cop stare, wanting to see if Ill make something up.

I look up and down Race Street: no speed limit signs. (You would think a street named “Race” would let you cut loose and hit the gas pedal, wouldn’t you?) “Um, 35?” I say hopefully.

“Nope. It’s 25, all year round, and you were doing 41.”

OK, so even if I was wrong about the limit, I was speeding a /ittle. I’m thinking furiously and come up with—nothing. No excuse, no ideas on how to get out of this ticket. “Um, I’ve never talked myself out of a ticket, officer. Anything I can say?” I really said exactly that. Pretty desperate, huh?

He kind of laughs at me and says, “OK, take your best shot. Give me your best story.”

HEy.. CAN I GET youR AUTOGRAPH?

Michael Hughes

“Well, I usually don’t go this route. Usually I go down 880 and get off on the Alameda.”

“Ah, the old unfamiliar-with-the-street excuse. Not very original.” He is reaching for his pen to write me up.

At this point, I’m laughing, too. “And to be honest, I can’t even claim I don’t know the street, officer. I’ve driven down it since I was a kid. I knew a girl who worked at Race Street Fish. I just was rushing to get to an appointment, so I was speeding, and I didn’t know the speed limit. That’s the best I can do.” Throw the book at me, I’m thinking.

“OK … hey, did you really run the Boston Marathon?” he asks me.

I look down at myself, and I am resplendent in Boston Marathon crap: sweatshirt, track pants, finisher’s shirt. “Um, yes.”

“That’s a good race,” he says, thoughtfully. “How old are you? Can you keep up the training mileage?” And off we go on a discussion about rest days, crosstraining, the importance of raw mileage, and quality running miles. And finally: “OK, you can leave, nothing on your record. It’s my New Year’s gift to you.”

“Wow, thanks, officer. You know, you should run a marathon, too.” I probably should have just left at this point.

“Yeah, well, with my kids and everything, it’s hard to get in the training. They are all into their own sports, but I need something for myself, too.”

“I’m a marathon run coach for Team In Training and the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. Here’s a brochure. Run a marathon and fight cancer! Hope to see you out there!”

The TNT team manager almost died laughing when she found out that I tried to recruit the cop who pulled me over to become part of our Silicon Valley run team. If he shows up at track practice, the team manager will die.

But all the money I spent on the Boston swag has finally paid off. <7<