Is this really what I want to do when I grow up?

"If the fire jumps the road, we're running over that hill and down into the creek on the other side," from a fire lieutenant as a wall of flames approaches in a wildland fire in New Mexico.

"You need to move to the other side of the building. We're evacuating everyone downwind because of the toxic fumes," from a Fire Chief near Minster, OH as bits of plastic rained from the sky at a recycling plant fire.

The shouting of rioters, the thump of concussion grenades, the smell of teargas, the rattle of all the windows in my news truck shattering and falling to the ground along Bronson Ave.

"You know we've got an officer shot. The shooter's still loose around here somewhere, and as far as we know, he's still armed. At this point I can't guarantee your safety," from a sergeant on a foggy night at the corner of Bush and Ontario.

Over the years, there have been a number of cues that I haven't been in the safest of positions as I've done my job. Diane Larson pointed it out in our broadcast during the Reliance Propane fire: Newspeople are a different breed, we tend to move toward those things rather than away. In one of my favorite movies, January Man, Kevin Kline plays a firefighter turned detective and says, "Big fire... Everyone else runs out, you run in... Basically, it's a maniac's job." A bit over the top, but it still applies.

Then, every once in awhile, there are those moments that make me ask myself, "Is this really what I want to do when I grow up?"

Sometimes, it's in a really uncomfortable situation like when all my extremeties have gone numb at the scene of a car crash at night, in the winter in the middle of nowhere.

Sometimes, it's in really boring situations, like sitting in a trial listening to an attorney question a witness over the most minute of details.

Other times, it's in highly charged situations. Like dodging falling limbs while hail pummels the car as I try to get to a funnel cloud sighting in Indiana, or realizing that the Lucas County SWAT team has made a ring around us, all eyes out, to walk us up the street to safety.

That was the case Tuesday, as I felt the ground shake under my feet from the tanks exploding while I carried a load of cable to my Jeep for the second evacuation.

Certain things (like the SWAT thing I just mentioned) make you realize the gravity of your situation. On Tuesday, it was two things. First was hearing fire officials saying that if the big tanks BLEVE'd, they'd vaporize a quarter-mile radius. The second was the realization that when officials told us to get out of the area, they were coming with us.

After Jason Klocko had set up the live truck, we pulled out two reels of cable to set up a shot where you could see the fire. Then came the first order to move out. Thinking we were fortunate in truck location, we pulled the two loads of cable the other direction from the truck and set up again. Then came the second order to move. This time the truck had to go too. Jason started to collapse the mast and pull in one reel of cable toward the live truck. I pulled the other toward me, away from the live truck. I hefted it onto my shoulder and started toward my Jeep, which was just up the road. Behind me, I could hear the tanks blowing and I could feel the ground shake under my feet. I looked over my shoulder and saw the live truck pass by with Justin shooting video out the windshield. Beyond that I could see the fireball beyond the treeline getting bigger. For a brief moment, I imagined my epitaph reading, "He gave his life saving cable."

At that point, the question came into my head again, "Is this really what I want to do when I grow up?"

Fortunately, the big BLEVE never came and, two setups and teardowns later (props to Jason for the yeoman job he did moving that truck all those times) we were on the edge of that field I mentioned in my previous post; where our biggest worries were a mild case of dehydration and whether we could get enough time between live hits to send back soundbites.

I don't know what it is in me or my colleagues that stops us from running the other way when we hear or see the cues that say we may not be in the safest location.

What I do know is that, at the end of the day, when I can feel my fingers again and the adrenaline has gone down, the answer to whether I want to do this when I grow up is, "Of course I do. What else is there?"