Onward! The Absolute, No B.S., Raw, Ridiculous Soul-Stirring Truth About Training For Your First Marathon by Brook Kreder

Author:Brook Kreder [Kreder, Brook]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780989683104
Published: 2013-08-28T18:30:00+00:00

Day 80

16 Bags Of Pretzels

Hubs and I met on Match.com.

At the time, I lived in Wyoming. The only place you’ll meet a guy in Wyoming is at the local bar or at church. And I guaranfreakintee he won’t be under the age of 75. Hence, I had to take my search online.

I’m fairly certain somewhere in my online profile I said, “Loves to travel.” I probably said a lot of stuff that may or may not be true.

And back then, maybe I did like to travel.

But nowadays, it seems like a heroic effort to get anywhere that requires a connecting flight.

Yesterday’s trip to the East coast was painful.

I got to the Denver airport 90 minutes before my flight. I walked right up to the ticket counter and handed over all of my favorite clothes to an airline employee who looks likes she eats small children for breakfast.

Not one to be deterred by a sourpuss, I sail through security and snag a grilled chicken wrap at Mickey D’s. I hate to admit I ate McDonalds, but damn it, I did.

Me + Travel + Hungry = Guaranteed Call to Security.

I get situated in seat 19C. I paid for an aisle seat upgrade. It’s inevitable: When you’re a party of one, the airline automatically stuffs you in the middle.

After all that effort, we end up sitting on the runway for 40 minutes before takeoff. Delta totally missed the boat by not offering free cocktails.

Because the flight was delayed, I had to bust a move to make my connection.

As I’m hauling a** down the concourse, two thoughts run through my mind: 1) I have to pee and 2) I’m starving.

I only had 3 minutes to get to the gate before they closed the door forever. I knew I had to choose. The reality is, my body chose for me. (I hit the restroom.)

I scoot down the jet way and throw myself into the cabin. I look one of the flight attendants dead in the eye and cry, “I’m freakin’ STARVING. Do you have anything I can buy to stave off hunger and save the other passengers from my wrath?”

It’s a 38-minute flight. There’s no food or beverage service. She takes pity on me and stuffs 16 bags of pretzels and a Biscotti cookie in my purse. I’m no longer breaking up with Delta.

I land without further incident. I chased down a cab. It was a white, unmarked mini-van. The inside reeked of stale cigarettes. A few minutes into the ride, the driver rolled up the windows, locked the doors and said he had some groovy music to share.

Oh sh*t.

We are zooming down some foreign-to-me-interstate listening to Star Castle. Their Fountains of Light album. It’s 70s. Psychedelic. Awful. If you love them, forgive me. I’m more of an 80s girl, myself.

He was so proud of that album he insisted on showing me the CD cover. So, I feigned love and interest of all things Star Castle, which is probably how I made it to the hotel without being kidnapped.

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