What a Miserable Travel Day Taught Me About Recomp and Resilience
What was supposed to be an 8-hour travel day turned into a 30-hour endurance test with surprise airport meals, sleep deprivation, and existential rage. But hey — I’m in Michigan, I’ve got clean underwear, and no one ended up in the no-fly list. I’ll call that a victory.
The Flight Plan That Failed
Vegas to Chicago? Smooth sailing. Then… Chicago to Hancock happened.
Our 55-minute flight was delayed repeatedly due to the inbound plane detouring two hours out of its way to avoid a storm. Cool, whatever. We passed the time by eating at an airport restaurant. I kept it reasonable — burger and fries — and figured that would tide me over for the short connection. I don’t eat much on flight days anyway, since my stomach tends to hate me at altitude.
Eventually, the plane landed and we boarded. We sat. And sat. In the dark. With a PA system that barely worked. For nearly two hours. No real explanations, no movement. Just vague chaos and the smell of stale pretzels (mmmmm, pretzels).
Finally, we take off — 6 hours behind schedule — and eventually start our descent into Hancock. Landing gear comes down. We see the runway. Then? The plane suddenly pulls up. Landing gear goes back up. The flight attendant’s voice comes on, muffled and barely audible:
“Uh… the pilots said we don’t have enough gas to attempt another landing. So we’re heading back to Chicago.”
Dafuq?
Back to Chicago we go. Land again. 4 a.m. Now they’re telling us we’ll re-board this exact same plane at 8 a.m. for another attempt. They say they’ll send us some hotel and food vouchers for the inconvenience, but who’s gonna leave the airport to get a hotel and sleep for an hour to come back to the airport and go through security again? No food vouchers came through either. No sleep, no food, just gate chairs and dashed hopes.
Body vs. Willpower (feat. The Dry Sandwich of Shame)
At first, I held strong. Just a burger and fries. I figured I’d eat properly once we landed. But by 6 a.m., I was cracked out on stress, sleep-deprived, and starting to fade fast. I didn’t pack snacks because, well, we were supposed to be in Michigan by then.
So I caved.
In a moment of desperation, I bought a breakfast sandwich from Dunkin’ Donuts, thinking it might be at least a notch above McDonald’s. Friends, it was not. It was dry. Overcooked. Sad. It tasted like missed lifts and broken macros.
Honestly? I should’ve gone full gremlin and gotten the McGriddle. At least then the regret would’ve been delicious.
But you know what? One airport sandwich doesn’t ruin a transformation. Calories don’t count on travel days. I’m 97% sure that’s a real law, or at least something whispered by fellow lifters next to the B-terminal Cinnabon.
Reframe and Resume
Eventually, we got rebooked — thanks to my wife going full chat-agent ninja and getting us on a new flight on the far side of the airport. That side, it turns out, is much nicer and has comfy chairs. Noted.
We landed in Hancock 24 hours after leaving Las Vegas. Our luggage even arrived an hour later on the flight that we were originally booked on.
Once we got to the house, we ate an ungodly amount of food, collapsed, and slept over 10 solid hours. I’m now officially in vacation mode — eating well (mostly), planning on walking daily, and not thinking about gym PRs or macro spreadsheets for a bit.
Final Thoughts: Don’t Judge the Stalls
This wasn’t the trip I planned. And honestly? It sucked. But so do plateaus, injuries, stress binges, and unexpected life chaos. The trick isn’t avoiding them — it’s not letting them define the next move.
So if you’ve ever had a “go around” moment — where you were almost there but had to circle back — I get it. We all do. That doesn’t mean you’re off course. It means you’re learning how to fly through turbulence.
Still lifting. Still losing. Still showing up. Usually.
The Recomp Chronicles 
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