As part of my recent trip to Italy I'd planned to run a marathon in Rome (the reasoning for that somewhat insane decision is another story for another time). Terrified of something disastrous happening before the marathon, I decided to wear my running shoes on the trip over to ensure that I'd have the most important tool for this race. Anything else lost or damaged could be replaced much easier than finding and breaking in a brand new pair of running shoes in a 26.2 mile stint. The blisters would be unimaginable and I really didn't want to have that particular experience.
My nine hour flight to London began sitting in a middle seat sandwiched between two rather large men. With me being 6 feet tall there was already no leg room, but with these gentlemen on either side there was no extra inches anywhere around me. About an hour into the flight I decided to take off my shoes and give my feet a break (I had on clean socks so there were no smelly feet. Don't worry). The flight was fairly uneventful.
Ninety minutes away from landing I started gathering my things and planning the next international connection I'd have to make. I grabbed my right shoe and put it on, then reached down to grab the other one. I couldn't find it. Figuring it might have gotten pushed a little further than I could reach with my hand I used my bare foot to feel around for it. I found my purse but still no shoe.
Huh.
I continued using my foot to search underneath my own seat. I found a lovely sandal shoe and empty space. The man to my right was asleep, so I discreetly felt around his foot area as much as I could and came up empty. Okay. It must have moved around much more than I realized during the flight. I turned to the man on my left and asked if he happened to have my shoe under his seat. He smiled and felt around but found nothing.
Then this kind, and large, man got up from his seat and crouched on his hands and knees in the middle of the isle to look underneath our row, gathering the full attention of the people across the way and behind us.
So much for discretion.
Then to everyone watching he asked, "has anyone seen a shoe?"
Fantastic.
My face flamed red as more people leaned over to get a good look at me, then joined in looking underneath their seats for my running shoe. Of course they all turned up empty. A very kind British couple behind me searched diligently and apologized for not finding it. They suggested that when we landed we could look more efficiently. I thanked everyone for looking and felt like a total idiot.
Who loses a shoe on an airplane? Me, apparently. My perfect plan to avoid this exact catastrophe had failed miserably. How was it possible this was happening?
I waited as the flight continued on. The row in front of me was asleep with their seats reclined, but that had to be the only option as to where my shoe had gone. If my shoe had moved up that far, you'd think they would have noticed it sooner and pushed it back. I tried not to panic or jump to conclusions. One side of my brain couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of this predicament. How in the world did I lose one running shoe on an airplane?
The other part of my brain jumped into survival mode of alternative options. I could go ahead and buy new running shoes, suck it up, and deal with the horrid blisters for weeks afterwards. Or I could potentially borrow my sister in law's running shoes (my brother currently lives overseas for his work). They'd still hurt and blister my feet, but maybe not as badly as new shoes would.
With thirty minutes of flight time left the row in front of me started preparing for landing. As soon as the man directly in front of me moved his seat forward I became Elastigirl and dived underneath. He'd gotten up which allowed my searching hands to avoid another awkward situation of coming into contact with his legs from below his seat. Can you imagine sitting in a chair and hands start knocking around your ankles from beneath it? I didn't need another embarrassing situation to talk my way out of when the first one wasn't resolved yet.
Finally, there it was - my lost running shoe. It had been pushed forward to the middle of his own isle far beyond the reach of my legs. Oh the relief. The man to the left of me chuckled as he watched me reappear from below with my shoe. I have my entertaining moments apparently.
The flight landed and people began shifting through overhead bins for luggage. The kind British woman behind me tapped my shoulder.
Her: We still can't find your shoe dear. I bet we can ask an attendant to help us look.
Me: I actually found it thank you. It had gotten pushed forward.
Her Husband: Oh good. We were worried about you having to walk off the plane barefoot.
Me: I had the same concern.
The moral I took away from this incident is simple: British people are so nice!
And God has a sense of humor when it comes to me and traveling.
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