I'm alive, I'm tired, and I'm not in New York. And I won't be in New York until Thursday. It's a veritable snowsaster.
O'Hare was more calm than I expected when I got there at 8am this morning. It was beginning to get rowdy around 3pm when I left. I had been waiting to try to get onto a 2pm flight standby (I was 54th in the standby line - yes, you read that right). They canceled the 2pm, 3pm, 4pm, and 5pm flights simultaneously, and I took that as my cue to leave the airport. And buy myself some bubble bath.
December 2010 Blizzard Timelapse from Michael Black on Vimeo.
Before she got on her evening flight to Philly, I was seriously considering driving back with Susan today.
I actually saw a woman running in the airport. Just as I thought to myself, "Good idea? or terrible idea?" I realized that she was racing to catch a flight.
And you know what the worst part is? I can't even do Mark Remy's Chicago run because I'm at the airport. LAME.
On I went, out of the wood, passing the man leading without knowing I was going to do so. Flip-flap, flip-flap, jog-trot, jog-trot, curnchslap-crunchslap, across the middle of a broad field again, rhythmically running in my greyhound effortless fashion, knowing I had won the race though it wasn't half over, won it if I wanted it, could go on for ten or fifteen or twenty miles if I had to and drop dead at the finish of it, which would be the same, in the end, as living an honest life like the governor wanted me to. -Alan Sillitoe, "Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner"