When Deb and I checked in at the airport in St. Louis yesterday we found
that the first part of our trip back, the flight to Phoenix, was delayed. It
meant we'd have only 35 minutes to transfer in Phoenix, and the gates we'd
arrive at and leave from were nowhere near each other. Not comforting.
Once onboard we had to wait to be de-iced again, as it had been a certain
length of time since the last de-icing, with precipitation (snow) falling in the
meanwhile, and those rules are there to protect us as the cheery pilot
explained. Having a window seat for the de-icing procedure is like having a
window into how disgusting a sliming experience must be. The pilot said it
would smell like "pancake syrup." I don't ever want to eat with that
pilot.
Finally we were on the runway. And we stayed there. I don't know how long
we waited, though the sniffing impaired pilot explained why. If there's a lot
of traffic, and it might get backed up in the air, they hold you on the ground.
It costs less than circling would at your destination. He didn't, however,
explain why we didn't need another de-icing after an equally long amount of time
and that pesky precipitation still falling.
Once in the air Deb and I leaned forward in order to do our part in helping
to "make up time." It did about as much good as leaning forward in my Saturn
does as it chugs up a grade. It goes no faster, but you sometimes can't help
yourselves. I'm kidding here. I'm the only one of us who leaned.
As we taxied to the gate in Phoenix, the flight crew made an announcement.
They said there were those of us who had very iffy connections to make
(some time had been made up, but it was laughable to think we could
still get on our flight), and if you had plenty of time to please let us out
first. The flight attendant serving us said that if we got a cart, we might be
able to make it. All we had to do was go nearly all the way down one wing,
across to another, and nearly all the way down it to the other gate. Just, you
know, an impossible distance. We got off the plane, a man was there with a
wheelchair (Deb isn't up for long treks at high speed), and he took off with Deb at
a fast clip. I looked at the time and it was 5:24.
The young guy pushing Deb was strong and fast and clearly motivated to get
us there in time. I was motivated not to be left behind in the Phoenix
airport. Literally running to keep up with him was one of those "damn, I wish I
worked out regularly like I used to" moments. It was also an "I'm so glad I
have this huge sweatshirt on" moment since I hadn't expected to need a jogbra on
this trip. Every so often the guy would glance back to see if I was still there
and flash me a thumbs-up sign. I hated him. There was one section of the
airport that had a moving ramp. I got on and managed to come even with, then
get slightly ahead of Deb. I panted out a smartass comment about her keeping
up. Big mistake. The moving ramp ended and the young guy took it as a
challenge to go faster.
Here's how sick my mind is, though. I'm running along, past all these
shops and restaurants, and my thoughts went like this, "I'm so out of shape.
How did I let this happen? I used to swim every morning and walk every night.
I have to get back into the habit of doing cardio. I have to lose weight.
Ohhhhh, there's a Carvel! I wish we had time to stop!" It is very hard to
laugh at yourself when breathing has become a chore.
We skidded to a stop at the entrance to the jetway, and the ticket agent
gave us some attitude about being late and the door should be closed already.
As she scanned Deb's boarding pass I looked at the time and it was 5:32. Less
than ten minutes to go what was quite obviously a mile or longer (I can't be
certain, of course). As we headed down the jetway a man ran up behind me. He'd
also been delayed on a flight and had made a run for it. We couldn't high five
each other as it would've required energy we were using to catch our
breath.
The second we were in our seats (it took a little longer for the man, as he
was farther back in the plane), they shut the door. We were on our way in five
minutes. So, while we marveled at how wonderful it was that we'd made the
flight, we were prepared to get to San Jose and not have any luggage. We knew
there was another flight, hours later, and I thought I'd have to drive back to
the airport to get our stuff whenever it came in. Still, we weren't stuck in
Phoenix, we were on our way back, and we were glad.
Obviously we went to baggage claim anyway, just being hopeful, when we got
to SJC. The conveyer belt started moving, the little light flashed, and bags
came up from the Great Below to be collected gratefully by their owners. Mine
was third up, and Deb's was fourth. Now that's impressive! I know
they have carts and can drive from gate to gate, but they have many to take off
and transfer and they had about 15 minutes to do it in.
Air travel is stressful, but all in all it was a good trip. The big snow
was over with before we got to St. Louis, I only had to clear the rental car off
once, and the roads were clear the whole time. There were obviously still
back-ups and issues leftover from those cancellations due to the couple of
storms that hit a week or so ago, but the airlines are handling them. Deb got
to feel snow on her face (something she apparently likes to experience once
every decade or so), and I got to wear my heavy, cable-knit sweater. Both of us
got to see Mary Lou again, and we returned home very happy.
I'm devising a new exercise regimen right now. I have to start burning a
lot more calories, 'cause I'm never going to stop wanting Carvel.
