The helicopter on patrol above Waterfront Park on a cool, drab Sunday morning should have registered as a warning in my mind.

I rolled out of bed to the alarm, actually grateful to be awake after a night full of bad dreams. After swinging by the store to pick up grub for my workday, I trekked over to the MAX station. I noted the heli’ but didn’t think much of it.

Then I noticed the runners. Two of them were waiting near my usual leaning post. I’d been blessed with good timing, as the next train was down at the Lloyd Center stop as I arrived. When the train was about to pull up, one of the two ladies quipped, “Hopefully this time they’ll let us on.”

Um. What?

The MAX train, a double-car rig, was packed solid… with folks heading downtown to take part in the 2004 Race for the Cure.

Just my luck. I actually manage to roll out of bed early enough on a Sunday to finish my chores with daylight left at the end of ‘em, and I pick the day when I have to pack in cheek-by-jowl with a trainload of joggers. Apparently the MAX was the transportation mode of choice for a sizeable percentage of Race participants this year. And since each train had to disgorge almost its entire ridership at one particular stop downtown, the entire MAX line was getting backed up quite a bit.

So there I was, packed in with dozens of women, stuck in that part of a low-floor light-rail train between two of the center-section doors, with no handholds, on a vehicle prone to making sudden motions along both the X and Y axis. I somehow managed the entire ride without stumbling into somebody or making any inappropriate physical contact.

No, I don’t know how I did it either. I do know that my calves were sore by the end of it. Maintaining balance on the MAX without handholds is hard, dammit.

Oh yes, and lest you think I’d somehow died and gone to Heaven… er, no. The women were friendly and chatty, but also out of my age range by quite a bit, thanks. Women in their 40s and 50s, some with their teenaged daughters along. All in good shape, mind you, but still. Bzzzt, sorry, thanks for playing.

Bonus points for classlessness go to the scuzzball who proclaimed loudly his relief that the “estrogen level” had gone way down once all the runners had left the train. Whatever, dude.

All things being equal, I’m glad I gave myself plenty of extra time to arrive at work when I intended to… which I did. I’m also glad I chose not to have my Neuros on, as the light banter between passengers was a better antidote than the sweet isolation of music for the crowded conditions.

Gotta love the public transit, baby!