Can we all just take a minute and debrief Christina's and my flight to Belize together? Please know I WILL be treating this as a much-needed group therapy session... Hi. I'm Nathan. (Group response) I gotta admit, I'm a little nervous to do this publicly but I have a confession to make. I relapsed today, falling victim to a flying-related anxiety I haven't experienced since I was a wee lad. So there we were, my lovely wife, Christina and I, waiting to board United Airlines International Flight 1953 to Belize City, Belize. The standard pre-flight excitement fluttered about our insides like butterflies on high quality crack. So far so good. However, to borrow an infamous line from Michael Scott, "Well, well, well, how the turn-tables..." And turn those tables did... immediately. With a giddy smile still plastered across my dumb face, I turned around, as if in slow motion, and found myself face-to-bellybutton with the first living giant I've ever encountered: the illegitimate love-child of Frankenstein and the Hulk. He came complete with one eye completely glazed over, and the other eye ever-searching, like the Eye of Sauron. To be fair, I never did meet this man, and he was probably the nicest guy in the world, but my imagination rocket-launched into oblivion. My little brain quickly flooded with manufactured thoughts on how dangerous this man probably was. I replayed the entire Bourne series in my head trying to summon the best fighting moves and osmose them into my own abilities just in case the worst should happen. Now anxious, I boarded the plane with Christina and tried to put these misguided paranoia out of my mind with little success. To make matters more interesting, it turns out I was way more nervous than I thought about the flying part. White-knuckled and sweaty-palmed, I hyperventilated myself into exhaustion by the time we reached our 37000 ft cruising altitude. Cruising is a loose term though. Given the amount of turbulence, the flying was more epileptic in nature. I swear the airplane wings were flapping up and down with all the speed of a hummingbird's wings. And yet, Christina just sat there, calmly chatting with our Mexican seat-mate named "Yunior." (Which, when translated from Spanish to English word-for-word means, "Junior.") Out of options, I turned my attention to the in-flight TV monitor, desperate for some mind numbing . Now bear in mind, we were on our way to Belize, the snorkeling capital of the Carribbean, and I planned to get me some of that ASAP! As luck would have it, however, the only program available for the distraction I needed was the one channel I swore I wouldn't watch prior to snorkeling... Shark Week. I kiddeth thee not. In order to distract myself from the violently seizing turbulence, I was forced to watch 20-foot great white sharks come barreling out of the water from the dark depths and swallow me-sized lumps of bait flesh whole. Paralyzed, all I could do was stare in shocked horror. Looks like I'll be on dry land building sand castles for beach day instead! That is, if I can manage to unpretzel myself out of the fetal position. Yay... -_- The story ends well enough though, I promise. We got to Houston, TX in one piece and then made it safely to Ladyville, Belize. From there, we hitched a flight on a 12 passenger, single-engine island-hopper which the locals affectionately refer to as "The White-Knuckle Express." But that's a different story for a different day. We finally made it to San Pedro Island, and my anxiety is slowly giving way to the peaceful, casual island culture. "No shirt, no shoes, no problem." How about no shorts? All of mine are in the wash. Haha! Gross.... The End
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