Making a Run for It

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.