R. Clayton McKee photo for the Chronicle
I looked at the dummy I was supposed to be kissing in amusement. I couldn’t contain a giggle, and, noticing my friend biting her lip, I knew she was restraining herself from laughing as well. Okay, to be politically correct, I was going to be performing CPR on a mannequin, but, in my mind, they were roughly equivalent.

“…28 and 29 and 30 and swoop down!” the instructor directed. I grinned and bent toward to mannequin and gave it two breaths while trying to keep a straight face.

Finally, my turn was over, and I happily traded places, getting up and stretching my legs. After sitting in the same position for almost an hour, it was a welcome relief.

I strolled by a group of people from my school performing CPR, and my grin turned into an outright snicker. I saw them make a face as they continued to give the dummy mouth-to-mouth. I smiled, wishing I had a camera.

Even if this training had no food, it was worth four hours of my day just because of how entertaining it was to watching grown men practice abdominal thrusts and back presses on each other in an attempt to dislodge a non-existent object from a supposedly choking person. Oh yes. It was well worth it.

I headed back over to my station, and we sat down to listen to the speaker. “I was working in the office when I suddenly had a heart attack. I was unconscious in seconds, and the ambulance was over twenty minutes away…If it wasn’t for this woman who knew CPR, I wouldn’t be standing here today,” he told us. “She saved my life.” A hush came over the stadium that served as the training center.

My eyes widened. These silly little things I was learning today…albeit how funny they were to watch, actually made a difference. The techniques I were mastering may, in fact, come in handy in the future.

Save a Life, the program was called. When I first walked in, I had regarded it as a nice catchphrase, something to catch the attention of the audience. But I realized that the title was true.

Save a Life.