Dig me – I’m grace-full.

I found myself on a plane quite early, bound for a final destination to a place that I actually swore I'd never go to.

It started at the check-in counter, where I had to turn over my 42 pound bag filled with running gear and my little black boots (because bringing my Manolo's just seemed like overkill). The agent behind the counter checked my ID (which has possibly my favorite image of myself), looked up and said "And you're heading to St. Louis?" and … well, it was EARLY, in my defense, and the Venti, decaf, non-fat, no whip, peppermint mocha hadn't TOTALLY kicked in yet so my response was a rather slow … "Unbelievably, I guess it looks that way, eh'?" Happily the agent wasn't really listening anyway, returned my ID to me and wished me a good flight.

By the time I landed at the hub, my mood had significantly brightened. I had wound up with a terrific seat on the plane, after giving my original seat to a business man who wanted the aisle and had the window. For me, having either is good, but the window this early meant that I could sleep without killing my neck, and sleep I did. I had a good rest and came to right about the time we were beginning to descend.

I picked up a snack, got rid of some e-mail, and waited at the gate for the next flight of this trip to begin. Since my running shoes wouldn't fit in my checked bag, they were with me and I was reminded of my reason for this trip each time I needed to find something, which was a good thing. And – no fooling, I'm NOT making this up – 10 minutes with me sitting there alone, this super nice woman a little older than me sat down next to me and we got to talking. She lives in St. Louis and makes this flight every 5 months as a follow up to her second mastectomy three years ago. She went through all the treatments and every bit of the hellishness that is breast cancer … twice … and she was the nicest person, and she was sitting right there with me. There's a reason this happened. I don't need a sledge hammer to knock sense into my head.

The next flight was quick (I barely made it through three Sudokus) and boring, the way I like them to be. I landed and thought "Ok – the airport is smaller than my home-town one but bigger than Biloxi, so this can't be all bad, right?" and just when I thought that I'd have to hang up all my skepticism at the door, an airport-wide announcement came over the Public Address system that made me literally laugh out loud.

Now, typically, at an airport, you'd expect to hear "This is a final boarding call for flight 123 to East Timbuktu, which is now boarding at Gate Z" or "Please note that the security threat level is currently set at plaid" or some such, right? Yeah, but I got the feeling that I wasn't in Kansas anymore when I listened to "May I have your attention please? May I have your attention please? If you left your tin of mints at the security gate, please come back and get them. They're still here." Uh huh.

I strolled through baggage claim, where it turned out Scott was waiting for his luggage to appear from his sales meeting trip. And, just like the first trip I arranged when I transfered to his group, a piece of checked baggage was lost. Unlike the first trip, he was the victim this time and, as he's headed home, it's a manageable inconvenience. He very kindly dropped me off at my hotel on his way home, and I had dinner with a new friend of mine who also lives out here.

But that's a post for another day.

So I guess you could say that I'm in a state of shock – that I'm able to manage my fears and be here at all. I'm in a state of surprise – at myself for daring myself to attempt to accomplish my half-marathon (even if all I do is START to attempt it). I'm in a state of awe – at the strength that others can show when fighting their own battles. And, best of all, I'm in a state of grace – for having the blessing of good health that I can assist with that battle, even at a very small scale.