The curious incident of the disappearing Yaktrax in the snowstorm

I remember running in Central Park one snowy day while I was in grad school. The park was beautiful...and empty. It was actually a lovely day, from my Minnesotan perspective, but I didn't see one other person during the course of my run.
Tuesday night, I set out for a loop around Lake Calhoun in the midst of a windy snowstorm. All winter, I'd been thinking how smart it would be to carry my Yaktrax down to the running path in case the path hadn't been plowed. So, congratulating myself on my foresight, I set out. The path seemed OK, so I left them at the bottom of the stairs and started running.
About 800 meters later, a woman passed me. For some reason, I looked at her shoes. She was wearing Yaktrax just like mine, which, I figured, must have been why she was whizzing by me. (Also, seeing as I'm no longer breastfeeding, or pregnant, and I wasn't pushing either kid in the babyjogger, I had no other excuses. So I was happy to attribute it to the Yaktrax.)
As the wind whipped and the snow pelted me, I nodded to other runners and bikers. That's how it works in Minnesota: You head out in horrible conditions, and you're always affirmed by the presence of others. We all act the same way we would if it were 60 and sunny. And really, it wasn't bad, until I started mistaking pools of blackness on the path as asphalt and discovering that in fact, they were deep puddles of slush.
Nothing unusual for a March run -- in fact, I was enjoying the fact that I'd left in daylight at 6:30 (!) -- until I got back to where I'd left the Yaktrax.
They were gone.
I wonder if someone mistook them for running's version of Minneapolis's new bike-sharing program?
Anyway, if you see any when the snow melts, let me know.