It was 4:30am, and I was sitting on the relatively comfortable couch on station, during a relatively quiet shift on the car. Ten hours in, two to go, and I'd only seen four patients. It would normally be double, even triple that number, sometimes even more. On the car it's easy to do, especially if the patients aren't too emergent. You attend, assess, and hand over to the crew for transport, then you're ready to go again.
My phone rang, the controller on the other end asking nicely if I could move from where I was and take up a standby position a few miles down the road. A groan, moan and miserable tone later, I drove to my new spot, parked up, reclined the seat back, and hoped for some peace and quiet.
A few minutes later I could see a jogger running towards me, his fluorescent jacket reflecting the street lights and a rucksack on his back bouncing with each step. As a recently started runner, I admired his dedication at being up and running at such an early hour. Clearly a man with more self discipline than I could even wish for.
As he ran past the car, I nodded a "Good Morning" in his direction, which he returned. I rested my head back in the seat, and started counting down the minutes until I could return to station.
Thirty seconds later there's a knock on the window, and I wind it down as I see the luminous figure standing still.
"Here," said the jogger, "you look like you need the wings more than I do!"
With that, he threw a can of Red Bull into the car, and jogged back up the road...