a few weeks ago i found myself in the airport, bouncing from leg to leg in line for security, frantically checking my watch. Finally I make it to the front and take my laptop out, shoes off, belt off, jacket off, pockets empty and then had to put it all back. I took another frantic look at my watch.  Crap. No way. Not gonna make it.  I take my bag swing it firmly over my shoulder, take a deep breath...and I run.

I was the stereotypical movie character late for her flight.  I sped by business people with their rolly bags, whizzed by parents dragging their screaming children.  I ran down the never ending terminal.  Seriously I think I found the longest trek from Security to one's gate.  I was only about half way there when something horrible happened.  I had to walk and catch my breath.  As I wheezed and repositioned my bag I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.  I hadn't had to stop and walk for ANYTHING since Junior High, and then it was only cause it wasn't cool to run all 8 laps.  I was walking now and this was about survival...or at least catching my plane to San Francisco.  And so, from my hunched over position, I straightened up and resumed the run.  As I pulled into the gate, my face red and flushed, wheezing like an old woman, I practically collapsed as I was the last to hand over my ticket for the flight.  As I stumbled down the gateway, barely able to catch my breath, only one though dominated my mind. 

Never has the need to be healed and running more apparent.  Next time the flight could be international.