When I wrote a feature story once about local firefighters, I gained a real appreciation of the dangers that come with the job. This is the part of the story that didn't get into print.
The fearless, burly men had enjoyed piling heavy gear on me, a skinny girl who said she was game for a training drill. They had filled a storage garage with non-toxic smoke and placed obstacles on the floor. The assignment was to rescue the dummy inside the garage.
As instructed, I dropped to the floor and started to crawl while gripping the pant leg of the firefighter on the floor ahead of me. Darkness and smoke enveloped me and made me feel disoriented. My senses were useless to me, except for the sense of touch. Even that didn't tell me much. I knew the building was small and that I wasn't really in danger, but I was scared anyway. I hadn't crawled very far when I told the firefighter I was ready to get out.
It felt good to leave the building and see sunlight again. When the firefighters cleared the smoke out of the garage, I took another look inside. Now devoid of smoke and filled with light, the building looked like a completely different place. It seemed so harmless that I felt embarrassed about the fear I had felt moments earlier.
Years later, that memory remains vivid. I hope I never need to get through a real fire, but if I do, I'll try to remember to crawl and feel my way out.
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