I had a good week. Lots of engaging activities with wonderful people. Many things to look forward to.
Nothing went wrong with the flight home. All went as expected, except for a rough landing, mentally.
I have to admit it, I used to feel a bit superior to out of shape non-athletic people. Or maybe not superior, but I felt like they did not know what they were missing. I wasn’t dependent on much of anything to get around. I could park anywhere and just run. If the airport tram is full, just run. One time, when the plane broke down at the gate and they let us off to rebook, our race team outran all the other passengers to the lone ticket counter and squeezed on another flight. I had options. The world was small. I took pride in being so capable.
I felt a bit pathetic slowly pushing my walker across the airport. I had to wait for it to be brought up to the ramp. If the terminal was long I was in a spot of bother. I did joke to myself, however, “I bet the chicks dig me”. I shouldn’t complain because I got it done.
It was a beautiful day flying into St. Louis and I had my nose plastered against the window, like usual. You would think that being a pilot would have cured me of this, but it didn’t. Air Traffic Control was thoughtful enough to take us over some of my favorite places, Callaway Fork, Lost Valley, and most personal of all, Lewis and Clark trail. I could make out all the ridges and valleys of where my old friends lived. That is when, together with my recent airport reality, I had a rough landing. At that time, and it wasn’t the first, I was seriously questioning whether I am strong enough for this.
This sadness being said, in the few days following this seemingly unbearable time, I have again had a wonderful and fulfilling life.