Turns out I don’t need a mileage run to be a hot mess.

A few weeks ago, I posted about how I was excited to take off on my first mileage run. (In case you don’t know, a mileage run is a flight taken for the sole purpose of earning miles and/or increased airline status). I was headed to Hartford, Connecticut, and in a stroke of good luck, my super good friend Ginger was going to meet me there for the day on Saturday. My plan was to fly in on Friday night, spend Saturday bopping around Hartford with Ginger, then fly back early Sunday morning.

While Hartford is ordinarily not a spot I would have chosen for a girlfriend getaway, our plans were shaping up nicely. Pedicures, drinks, thrift shopping, and more – we were going to hit the ground running and squeeze every drop out of that one day!

Meanwhile, trouble was brewing…in my lungs. I caught a little summer cold a couple of weeks ago, and I ignored it, and then all of a sudden I HAD PNEUMONIA. Yep. Pneumonia. But I am a terrible patient, and I hate sitting still, and in fact I just can’t do it unless I am literally dying. So I just went on about my regular business…just kind of slowly. I was fairly out of it. On Thursday, I had a lunch meeting with a friend who commented that I was “dimmed.” Like a light that was turned down.

I wasn’t contagious, just tired, so I decided that sitting on a plane all day might not be the worst thing in the world. It would be like resting, which I am normally unable to do. So I rolled on with my mileage run plans. I dropped my kids off at school on Friday, then hopped on BART to the airport. I whizzed through security (thanks to TSA pre-check), and I got on the plane without incident. I settled in for the flight, pulled out a book, and began to read. I admitted to myself that it did feel kind of nice to rest.

After about half an hour I realized that something was wrong. Since I was admittedly a little spacey, I had sort of ignored the fact that there had been passengers wandering the aisles since I sat down. Indeed, we were still on the ground. Sure enough, the plane had gone mechanical. Something about a wrinkle in the door. They weren’t sure if it was just a scratch, or something more serious, and they were going to check it out. Forty-five minutes later, they were still checking. Another thirty minutes went by. By then, I realized that there was no way I was going to be able to make my connection. So I decided to get off the plane.

People around me stared in amazement as I gathered my things and walked off. “Can you do that?” one of them asked. Since I hadn’t checked a bag, and the door of the plane was still open, I definitely could. And I did. After a few minutes spent checking with the agent assigned to “problem solve” this flight, together we determined that there were no other flights that would get me to Hartford before Saturday morning.

So now there were two strikes against me: my pneumonia, and the lack of flight options. I got the feeling that a higher power was trying to send me a message. And I decided to listen, before a third strike totally struck me out.

On my way home, I had a ten minute coughing fit on BART. Not kidding, it went on for ten minutes. By the time I was finished, tears were streaming down my face and I was sweating and gasping for breath. When I told this to Josh, he said, “You’re such a dumbass. Why did you think you could go on this trip?”

I don’t have a good answer.

I was so out of it that on the BART ride home, I missed my stop and had to circle back. Then I went home and lay on the couch. I really did, I just lay there. I watched Scandal and drank Vitamin Water and read magazines. My lungs hurt. My head hurt. I felt sorry for myself.

Whaddaya know: I was a hot mess. Even without a mileage run.