In the Trenches: Running on Sandals   

After sprinting down the eastbound shoulder of the Pennsylvania Turnpike in silver sandals under an August sun, I learned a lesson in journalism: Always keep running shoes in my car.

Sometime after 5 p.m., my editor assigned me to cover a serious accident involving a tractor-trailer and several cars near a tollbooth along the turnpike. I had worked as a suburban correspondent for the Philadelphia Inquirer all of two months, and I nervously scurried out the door on my first breaking-news assignment involving cops, unaware that my feet would be shod inadequately for the task.

Equipped only with a vague idea of where I would find the accident--or how to get there--I glanced at my watch with apprehension. About 90 minutes to deadline.

Fear of failure set in when a toll collector refused to let me--a reporter!--pass through the toll plaza because police had closed the turnpike. Flummoxed, I asked another toll collector if I could approach the accident on foot. He approved. With my arms pumping and the pages of my notebook flapping wildly, I ran nearly a half-mile to the scene, where I was greeted by a rescue crew that had watched my graceful approach with amused smirks. I felt I made pretty good time, considering my footwear handicap.

I interviewed the state trooper. I spoke to the truck driver. I questioned the lone witness who remained.

With the deadline closing in, I dictated the last of my information to the night cops reporter by cell phone and returned to my car feeling exhilarated despite my aching feet.

Although I haven't had to strap on my sneakers since that day 18 months ago, it's reassuring to know they're in the trunk, waiting for some breaking news action.