Coaching, Community, and a High-Voltage Peruvian Vacation
Posted: Fri Jun 07, 2024 9:21 am
Every other year, my wife Silvia (she's Peruvian) and we vacation in Lima, Peru. Our last trip was a three-month stay, running from November to January. While I was away, my colleague, Peter Salazar, capably ran the sprinters' training back at Granite High School.
In Lima, Silvia was busy visiting family and friends, and we stayed with her brother Martin and his wife, the psychologist Lily. I kept my own routine by volunteering as a coach in the local community. Keeping active is key, but I also believe in the power of laughter. Research confirms that a good laugh can increase oxygen flow, boost endorphins, improve your mood, and even reduce physical pain. My friend, Doug, insisted that this particular vacation story had to be shared. He promised it would make you laugh.
The Pocket-Sized Security Arc
One evening in November, while I was out shopping, I spotted something I thought would be perfect for Silvia, who often walks alone in the city: a pocket-sized, high-voltage taser. Its advertising promised a short-lived but effective immobilizing shock, giving my wife adequate time to retreat to safety. Without hesitation, I bought it.
Later, back at Martin and Lily's apartment, I was eager to test the device. I loaded two AAA batteries, pushed the button, and... nothing. Disappointed, I inspected the device and soon discovered the trick: you had to push the button while pressing the prongs firmly against a metal surface. When I did this, the device came alive, spitting a beautiful blue arc of electricity that darted back and forth between the contacts.
Silvia's Shock
The beautiful blue arc snapped and sizzled, momentarily illuminating the dark corner of the living room. "Well, that certainly works," I muttered to myself, feeling a mix of relief and mild apprehension.
Just then, Silvia walked in, carrying a basket of laundry. She froze, her eyes wide, staring past me at the device still crackling against the metal lamp base.
"George, what in the world is that?" she demanded, her voice tight.
"It's a taser, honey! For you. For protection," I explained, holding it up. "Look, it's tiny! And listen to this sound!" I gave the button a short, gratuitous press, and the room was instantly filled with the sharp, menacing snap-crackle-pop of high-voltage power.
Silvia set the laundry basket down with a decisive thump. "A taser? You bought me a weapon that requires me to be close enough to touch my attacker? Do you even know how to use that thing safely?"
Before I could answer, Martin and Lily returned from their walk. Martin, a man whose curiosity always outpaced his caution, spotted the device and grinned. "Whoa! A stun gun? Let me see that!"
I tossed it to him without thinking. Martin, catching the device clumsily, immediately fumbled the safety switch. He pushed the activation button just as his thumb slid across the prongs.
The air exploded with a furious, instantaneous CRACK. Martin let out a high-pitched yelp, dropped the taser, and danced backward, clutching his hand to his chest. The smell of ozone filled the air.
The Moment of Doubt
Alone in Lily’s office, I settled into the recliner and started reading the directions. I needed to test this thing out properly; if Silvia was going to rely on it for protection, I had to be absolutely certain it worked. Could two little AAA batteries really pack a punch?
I was in a state of utter vulnerability: clad only in a pair of shorts and a tank top, my reading glasses precariously balanced on my nose. Worse, I was already miserable. An antibiotic regimen had left me battling a throbbing root canal infection, stomach pain, and persistent diarrhea. I certainly wasn't at my sharpest—a crucial detail I was about to forget.
A Necessary Experiment
I focused on the instructions. The directions for the six-inch device were laid out clearly:
A one-second burst would shock and disorient.
A two-second burst would cause muscle spasms and major loss of bodily control.
A three-second burst would make an assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water.
Looking at the modest little plastic unit in my hand, I thought, No possible way! It simply defied belief that such a small device, powered by two little batteries, could achieve such results.
I reasoned that a mere one-second burst—just enough to cause disorientation—surely couldn't hurt that bad. I needed certainty; I needed to know what Silvia would face. With that terrible logic, I decided to give myself a quick zap, "just for the heck of it."
I touched the prongs lightly to my thigh, pushed the activation button, and...
HOLY MOTHER! WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION!
The Aftermath
I am fairly certain that the wrestler Dave Bautista ran in through the side door, picked me and the entire recliner up in a single move, and body-slammed us both onto the carpet—not once, but over and over again.
The experience was a chaotic, violent blackout.
I vaguely recall waking up curled in the fetal position, my eyes stinging with tears, and my clothes completely soaked through with sweat. My left arm was tucked beneath me at the oddest angle, and my legs were tingling with a residual, electric hum. It had been less than a second, but it felt like I'd been through a full wrestling match.
The Chaotic Aftermath
A minute later—though time was certainly a relative thing at that point—I collected what little wits I had left and slowly surveyed the room. The chaos was absolute:
My reading glasses were bent and resting on the desk, fully twelve feet away from where I started.
The recliner was completely upside down, six feet from its original spot, looking like it had lost a wrestling match.
My triceps and right thigh were still on fire, involuntarily twitching from the residual current.
My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, and I had completely lost control, openly drooling onto the carpet.
Most alarmingly, I had, apparently, crapped in my shorts during the convulsion, but was too numb to know for sure, and my sense of smell was entirely gone.
The experiment was conclusive: the pocket-sized taser was a certified Weapon of Mass Disorientation.
A Conclusive Verdict
"If you think education is difficult, try being stupid, crazy, or insane."
The truth is, testing the taser on myself was more than a momentary, painful lapse in judgment—it was the apex of poor decision-making.
But that's not entirely true. I just wanted to make you laugh right to the very end.
In Lima, Silvia was busy visiting family and friends, and we stayed with her brother Martin and his wife, the psychologist Lily. I kept my own routine by volunteering as a coach in the local community. Keeping active is key, but I also believe in the power of laughter. Research confirms that a good laugh can increase oxygen flow, boost endorphins, improve your mood, and even reduce physical pain. My friend, Doug, insisted that this particular vacation story had to be shared. He promised it would make you laugh.
The Pocket-Sized Security ArcOne evening in November, while I was out shopping, I spotted something I thought would be perfect for Silvia, who often walks alone in the city: a pocket-sized, high-voltage taser. Its advertising promised a short-lived but effective immobilizing shock, giving my wife adequate time to retreat to safety. Without hesitation, I bought it.
Later, back at Martin and Lily's apartment, I was eager to test the device. I loaded two AAA batteries, pushed the button, and... nothing. Disappointed, I inspected the device and soon discovered the trick: you had to push the button while pressing the prongs firmly against a metal surface. When I did this, the device came alive, spitting a beautiful blue arc of electricity that darted back and forth between the contacts.
Silvia's ShockThe beautiful blue arc snapped and sizzled, momentarily illuminating the dark corner of the living room. "Well, that certainly works," I muttered to myself, feeling a mix of relief and mild apprehension.
Just then, Silvia walked in, carrying a basket of laundry. She froze, her eyes wide, staring past me at the device still crackling against the metal lamp base.
"George, what in the world is that?" she demanded, her voice tight.
"It's a taser, honey! For you. For protection," I explained, holding it up. "Look, it's tiny! And listen to this sound!" I gave the button a short, gratuitous press, and the room was instantly filled with the sharp, menacing snap-crackle-pop of high-voltage power.
Silvia set the laundry basket down with a decisive thump. "A taser? You bought me a weapon that requires me to be close enough to touch my attacker? Do you even know how to use that thing safely?"
Before I could answer, Martin and Lily returned from their walk. Martin, a man whose curiosity always outpaced his caution, spotted the device and grinned. "Whoa! A stun gun? Let me see that!"
I tossed it to him without thinking. Martin, catching the device clumsily, immediately fumbled the safety switch. He pushed the activation button just as his thumb slid across the prongs.
The air exploded with a furious, instantaneous CRACK. Martin let out a high-pitched yelp, dropped the taser, and danced backward, clutching his hand to his chest. The smell of ozone filled the air.
The Moment of DoubtAlone in Lily’s office, I settled into the recliner and started reading the directions. I needed to test this thing out properly; if Silvia was going to rely on it for protection, I had to be absolutely certain it worked. Could two little AAA batteries really pack a punch?
I was in a state of utter vulnerability: clad only in a pair of shorts and a tank top, my reading glasses precariously balanced on my nose. Worse, I was already miserable. An antibiotic regimen had left me battling a throbbing root canal infection, stomach pain, and persistent diarrhea. I certainly wasn't at my sharpest—a crucial detail I was about to forget.
A Necessary ExperimentI focused on the instructions. The directions for the six-inch device were laid out clearly:
A one-second burst would shock and disorient.
A two-second burst would cause muscle spasms and major loss of bodily control.
A three-second burst would make an assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water.
Looking at the modest little plastic unit in my hand, I thought, No possible way! It simply defied belief that such a small device, powered by two little batteries, could achieve such results.
I reasoned that a mere one-second burst—just enough to cause disorientation—surely couldn't hurt that bad. I needed certainty; I needed to know what Silvia would face. With that terrible logic, I decided to give myself a quick zap, "just for the heck of it."
I touched the prongs lightly to my thigh, pushed the activation button, and...
HOLY MOTHER! WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION!
The AftermathI am fairly certain that the wrestler Dave Bautista ran in through the side door, picked me and the entire recliner up in a single move, and body-slammed us both onto the carpet—not once, but over and over again.
The experience was a chaotic, violent blackout.
I vaguely recall waking up curled in the fetal position, my eyes stinging with tears, and my clothes completely soaked through with sweat. My left arm was tucked beneath me at the oddest angle, and my legs were tingling with a residual, electric hum. It had been less than a second, but it felt like I'd been through a full wrestling match.
The Chaotic AftermathA minute later—though time was certainly a relative thing at that point—I collected what little wits I had left and slowly surveyed the room. The chaos was absolute:
My reading glasses were bent and resting on the desk, fully twelve feet away from where I started.
The recliner was completely upside down, six feet from its original spot, looking like it had lost a wrestling match.
My triceps and right thigh were still on fire, involuntarily twitching from the residual current.
My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, and I had completely lost control, openly drooling onto the carpet.
Most alarmingly, I had, apparently, crapped in my shorts during the convulsion, but was too numb to know for sure, and my sense of smell was entirely gone.
The experiment was conclusive: the pocket-sized taser was a certified Weapon of Mass Disorientation.
A Conclusive Verdict"If you think education is difficult, try being stupid, crazy, or insane."
The truth is, testing the taser on myself was more than a momentary, painful lapse in judgment—it was the apex of poor decision-making.
But that's not entirely true. I just wanted to make you laugh right to the very end.