I am walking like an 80 year old woman today.

I blame it all on Chicago O’Hare airport.

CAFO Summit was the conference of doomed travel it seems.

We left Phoenix around 11 a.m. on a flight through Chicago O’Hare with a 90 minuted scheduled layover. Very pleasant flight, loved the free first class upgrade that hubby’s frequent travels scores us. Food…for free…with real silverware. It was GOOD too.

Arrived at O’Hare, grabbed some dinner and walked to the other end of the B concourse (about a half mile) to our gate – B22. Our flight would be delayed an hour. We had just finished eating when they announced a gate change…to the C concourse. So we somewhat leisurely made our way through the underground disco tunnel (really, it’s weird) to our new gate. It’s like a mile long trip. We sat down and commenced to watch TV. We were there probably about 45 minutes, during which they delayed our flight again and again.

And then they announced another gate change. We were now leaving from gate B21. Yes, B21. Right next to where we had just been. Back through the disco tunnel.

We finally left 3 hours late and arrived in Louisville about 1 a.m. I tried not to complain because I had one friend stranded overnight in Chicago, and knew of others who weren’t going to make it to Summit until Thursday evening.

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Sunday morning we woke at the horrid hour of 4:45 a.m to make a 7:15 flight. Only to find our flight delayed. Yeah, would have enjoyed that extra sleep.

Finally ready to board, we were all lined up when the gate agent announced that because of a “flow issue” in Chicago that we were going to board our aircraft and then sit on the tarmac (NOT the gate) for 40 minutes. Um yeah, way to make your customers mad BEFORE they get on your little plane. We had a 90 minute layover in O’Hare so we weren’t too worried. I felt bad for several people though that were going to miss their plane to San Juan and miss their cruise ship.

Well that 40 minutes turned in to way longer and as we descended into O’Hare we realized that it was going to be TIGHT. I seriously prayed that our gates would be close to each other, but no such luck. Arriving at the far end of C and going to middle of B. Fortunately we had checked one of our rolling bags so we each had a backpack and one roller. We decided that since Mark could run faster, he would run ahead and I would trail behind with the roller.

We had been sitting in the very first row so as soon as the gate agent opened the airplane door, we were OFF!

It is hard to run and pull a wheeled carry-on in flip flops.

Took about 2 minutes to decide I’d have better luck barefoot.

Did you know that moving sidewalks and escalators hurt bare feet? Especially running bare feet.

I am horribly out of shape. (Not that I was ever a long-distance runner. 200M was my max in track.)

I lost Mark on the descent into the LSD-inspired disco tunnel. I ran as much as I could and tried not to knock anyone over. I’m not sure how successful I was.

I said a quick “Thank you LORD!” when I noted that our gate was on the near end of the B concourse. Mark was there, motioning for me to hurry (Um, yeah!). He said that when he ran up and told the gate agent that his wife was coming, the agent replied, “Well, I hope she makes it. I hope she doesn’t stop at Starbucks or something.” Whatever dude!

We were the last ones on the planes as we flung ourselves into our first row seats, panting and totally out of breath. I’m pretty sure my face was going white as well. They closed the doors about 2 minutes after we got on.

(Dear Sir who was walking up the aisle all excited because he was going to get upgraded to first class – Sorry! Well, not really.)

I spent the next 20 minutes hacking in what I’m pretty sure was an asthmatic attack (and I don’t have asthma). My feet hurt from running on the metal grated sidewalks and my chest was pounding for the next hour.

Yes, I am in pathetic shape.

Today I am REALLY feeling it. My calves, ankles and feet are all revolting against the mere act of standing, much less bending.

Today I think not just of my mom and my mother-in-law, but of another mother.

The one who gave birth to our two Ethiopian treasures.

Tuesday I stole Beza away from after a field trip for a little mommy daughter time. She was in need of a swimsuit and some new sandals, so we decided to hit Old Navy.  We had a few suits in hand and headed back toward the dressing rooms. I stopped to look at the clearance racks briefly. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed an employee talking to a male customer – someone she obviously knew. I didn’t pay too much attention, but noticed Beza kept looking over.

As we walked past them into the dressing room, I realized why. I was pretty sure it was a guy but he was wearing makeup, earrings, jean capri pants, shirt, and a stuffed bra. I still wasn’t entirely sure, his hair was in a cut that could have been shorter girl or longer guy. And I couldn’t really do a double take to figure it out.

Beza said nothing. I said nothing. Wasn’t sure WHAT to say at that point.

As we left and looked at a few more things I was able to surmise that yes, it was indeed a guy. Of course as we head to the cash register, so does he and so we’re both standing at the desk being helped by different employees. Beza keeps looking at him here and there and I just keep praying in my head “Please Lord, just let her wait until we’re outside!”

I engaged her in some conversation and we escaped without any embarrassing moments. We had a brief discussion in the car – I really don’t even know how to explain that one – and I gave her huge props for not saying anything unkind and waiting until we were alone.

Crisis averted.