For many years philosophers and theologians have theorized about the dark recesses of the afterlife and what hell is like. For many hell is searing hot as the souls of the dead torture you for all eternity. For Dante is was a bitterly cold place with circles of increasing severity. For me it was seat 24B on a 757 United flight to Denver wedged between a rather large and pale sodku playing dude who had no respect for my personal space, and some poor asian guy who I'd fall into every 15 minutes as my upright sleeping style lead to slouching into his shoulder. That guy must have hated me - or loved me - you never know.
My boy Jon had a similar experience rocking the flight, (which was somewhere between 4 hours and 2 and a half weeks) next to a screaming infant and the same fat dude who somehow was managing both locations.
So, sitting here in the airport and run into Amy who spots the swoosh and asks if we're running. It turns out that she does our runs in Chicago and knows our team out there. Small world. Time to board. Next post I'll be on Portland time.
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