TRUE STORY (mostly)! A Million Miles and a Diet Coke 😅

This is how my Thursday went...Wake up. Load the car with four large suitcases and two small ones. Head to the airport with my wonderful wife. We’re going home to Israel.

Then we find out the plane is delayed an hour. Connection at JFK is now questionable. No need to panic—bags are checked through to Tel Aviv, and worst case it’s a 10–15 minute walk to the next gate. We’ve got at least 45 minutes to play with. Easy.

Then, they park us on the tarmac. Doors closed. Engines off. Nowhere to go.

Thirty minutes later, we’re still sitting there, which turns the flight to New York into a low-grade anxiety simulator. It now seems quite unlikely that we will make our NY–Tel Aviv connection.

So, I call Delta… from the tarmac. They rebook me on a later flight. For my wife, they only find a standby seat.

(Yes, I would have left her.

No—that’s a joke.

I would never leave her.

I mean… maybe if Delta offered enough miles.

Also, a joke.

We’ve been married 38 years.)

And did I mention that this flight, this stress-filled, anxiety-inducing one-hour flight, pushed me over to become a 1 million miler with Delta? I guess this is how they say thank you—to remind you why you love flying so much. Actually, Delta is a great airline! They always treat me well.

Delta, to their credit, kept our original seats on the earlier Israel flight just in case we made it. Meanwhile, throughout the entire flight, Delta keeps texting me asking me to confirm the later flight—which would automatically cancel our original seats.

Nice try, Delta.

There’s a better chance I’d accept a Facebook friend request from a suspiciously attractive woman with no posts who somehow shares one mutual friend. (Is that just me?)

THEN SOMETHING HAPPENED THAT HAD NEVER HAPPENED IN THE HISTORY OF AERODYNAMICS. Despite JFK delaying nearly every flight due to traffic, I get a text:

Our flight to Tel Aviv will depart 10 minutes EARLY. And the gate is also closing 10 minutes early.

If I had sprinted across the entire airport before landing, maybe I could have made it. But now? Forget it.

My German seatmate—who, during the flight, consumed two Lite beers and two Diet Cokes simultaneously (a pairing I have never witnessed in nature)—looks at me with absolute faith and says:

“I believe you will make your flight.”

And he meant it! Come on, Germany!

We land, and the entire plane graciously lets us move to the front so we can sprint. As we stepped off the aircraft, a woman started shouting, “Cantor family!” or something close to that—I wasn’t recording.

She’s out of breath herself and says, “They sent me to get you!”

I say, “God bless you!” (I think.) “If they sent you, I guess that means they’re going to wait for us?”

She responds, “There are no guarantees.”

Not comforting.

We start running toward her airport buggy … and she starts running in circles looking everywhere. She cannot find her ride. She seems completely confused—like when you walk into a mall parking garage and suddenly realize you forgot where you parked.

I’m pretty sure someone stole her buggy.

I turn to my wife, Elana, and say, “I’m going to make a run for it. Gate B30. If I get there, I can get them to wait for you ... but if not, see you in Tel Aviv.” (I definitely did not say the last part out loud)

Now, I am in really good shape.

Really.

Wipe that smirk off your face.

For the past two months, I’ve been working out more than I have in years—biking almost daily, lifting weights, cardio, eating better. And running is much easier when you have a wheeled carry-on to lean on.

“Excuse me. Pardon me. Excuse me.”

I tear through the airport, dodging people like a slalom course. I only knocked down two old ladies. They’ll be fine.

It’s about a ten-minute run. With one minute to spare, I can actually see Gate B30—about 100 yards away … I’m huffing and puffing… sweat pouring down my brow … Then I see tape across the entrance and think, Amazing—they set up a finish line just for me.

Turns out, it’s just the rope barrier at the gate.

They tell me to relax. I made it.

“But my wife is coming too,” I say.

“Oh, don’t worry—we’re still waiting for 20 people from Fort Lauderdale.”

That would’ve been excellent information to have earlier, but at least I got my workout in for the day. And I had just bought some stick deodorant, so I could keep it in my carry-on (I have kept a lot of TSA members smelling good over the years through the regular confiscation of my AXE spray).

A few minutes later, I spot Elana running to the gate. In pretty good shape herself for an attractive 60-year-old (I just threw in ‘attractive’ because she is!). It’s all that Pickleball. I tell her she doesn’t have to run …. Ft. Lauderdale, etc.

We board, sit down, and finally breathe.

Once we’re in the air, a flight attendant asks if I’d like something to drink. I’m about to say, “Just water,” but then think better.

“I’ll have two Diet Cokes and two Miller Lites, please.” 😉

(Mostly) True story.