Of skyways and marathons

I’m a nervous flier. Which begs the question: “Why am I getting on a plane tomorrow, the day before Thanksgiving, to go somewhere!?” Well, it’s because my wife likes to run.

I’ll let that swish around in your head a minute…

Ok, that’s long enough. My lovely wife is one of those crazy people who participate in the most hurtful sport I’ve ever witnessed. No, not cage fighting, worse than that. She’s a Marathon Runner.

I’m not a long distance runner. Sprinting from my couch to the fridge to grab a snack during a commercial is my limit on endurance. But not my wife, she runs marathons. 26 miles, 385 yards. The reason for the odd distance is because Queen Alexandra of England in 1908 wanted the best seat at the Olympics for the race, so the normally 26 mile run was extended to end in front of the box where she sat, adding the extra 385 yards. For some reason it’s been that way ever since.

So marathons are 26 miles and 385 yards. They just call it 26.2 miles now; I call it insanity in tennis shoes. I support my wife at all her marathons though. I’m the guy at the finish line with a beer and a hotdog yelling “Run honey run!” But I have to say that in the 4 years I’ve been watching these races I have yet to see one person cross the finish line with a smile on their face. I would estimate that being dragged behind a tractor by their toes the entire 26.2 miles wouldn’t produce an expression any worse than the agony I’ve seen.

Anyway, back to flying. My wife is running in the Seattle Marathon this weekend, and since we have friends there we decided to go up for the holiday and spend it in the mountains north of the city. It’s beautiful. You can see pictures of our last trip to Seattle by using the link under Travelog on the right.

Flying, however, isn’t my favorite mode of transportation. I’m ok with being in the air. In fact I love the act of flying. It’s the loss of power to the engines and hitting the ground at 600 miles an hour that I’m afraid of. I know flying is a pretty safe way to travel though, but I’d rather be the person doing the flying. It’s a guy thing I guess. I don’t want the difference between flying and falling to be some guy I don't even know having a bad day.

I’m sure it’ll be ok, and when it comes down to it I rely on God’s will. I’m not really afraid of dying because I know Heaven will be wonderful. The main reason I don’t want to die though is because of my daughter. I love her, but more importantly I’m not done embarrassing her. I figure I have at least 6 more years of hearing “OH DAD!!!” whenever her friends are around. It’s a gift all men possess. The embarrassment gene. We use it on our wives too.

So barring any high-speed decelerations, I’ll probably be back to blather some more next week. I hope all who read this blog have a great Thanksgiving, and don’t forget to be thankful. I need to run to the store now and get some Dramamine.

“God, I have so many things to thank you for this Thanksgiving. Most of all, your saving grace. Thanks for everything you do. Don’t eat too much on Turkey Day, and let the Cowboys win. Thanks!”