We’re also more than a run group. On LinkedIn, we call ourselves “Independent Sports Professionals.” That’s because “Athletic Detectives” isn’t as well understood.
Our athletic detecting is still in its infancy. We aren’t.
We’re based in this same coffee shop where we meet after our training runs. By strange coincidence, we always seem to show up wearing the same jacket colour – frequently fluorescent orange – and name-brand running outfits. We may look interchangeable, but our brains are not. In fact we’ve kind of evolved beyond athletic detecting.
Now you may think of sports-related crime as drug-taking cyclists, illegal betting, overage Little League players or marathoners taking shortcuts. But if you knew our story, your face might be as white as the roots of our hair.
Our life of sports crime-stopping, and okay, crime-starting, began a couple of years ago when Charlene spotted a strange woman lurking around the nutrition table for the elite athletes at the Ottawa Marathon. That’s where the elite runners get to leave a bottle with their race number on it so they can run by and pick up their own mix of electrolytes and replenishments. The woman’s eyes kept darting around, and Charlene, who had taken an “early start” in the race, was just going by.
She saw the woman take a bottle out of her backpack and switch it with one on the table. As soon as she left, Charlene snatched up the bottle and kept on running until she was able to flag down a race monitor motorcycle and get a ride to the finish. Sure, she didn’t get her 10th marathon medal, but she did get a place on national television after her discovery of sleeping pills in the water led to arrest of the girlfriend of a competing athlete.
We’ve learned a lot about how people murder and how they get caught. And we love the excitement of the criminal world. It’s like race adrenaline. Perhaps that’s what makes us eager for more.
We chat on about Rob, with growing venom. Turns out Barbra’s mad he didn’t appreciate her technical talent, Charlene’s irked he didn’t respond to her flirting, Arlene and Trudy hate the disrespect, and I, well, just didn’t like the guy period.
“I definitely do not plan on continuing with him,” says Trudy, banging the table for emphasis. “He’s not going to change his methods, no matter what anyone does to butter him…” She stops in mid-sentence, and stares at the television set screen at the back of the coffee shop….
Our four heads turn in the same direction. Five mouths hang open as the newscaster says: “Found unconscious after bike crash…Name hasn’t been released…”
We stare wide-eyed at an image of our familiar coach, who was too vain to wear a bike helmet.
Then we all gaze curiously into the faces of each other, wondering who had pulled it off, eyes finally resting on Barbra.
I myself hadn’t thought of anything criminal this time, but maybe next time, when we go international. Planning ahead, we’ve all signed on to volunteer at the Summer Olympics in Los Angeles, 2028, the year we’ll all have turned 80. Trudy’s been taking some pharmacy courses in preparation, and I’ve been learning French and reading about police inspector Jacques Clouseau.
