Written by Andrew Ross (Grey Matter columnist)
The news came swiftly, as it often does in aviation circles, at around 10:00 PM on Wednesday night. It’s usually rumor, or an instance wildly blown out of proportion, or simply a case of misunderstanding.
This, as we know, was not one of those times.
It’s hard to express the anxiety, sadness, and anger at watching what unfolded over the Potomac. It seemed to happen in slow motion, and I wanted to yell at my phone for the crews to do something to avoid the future that was now past. It wasn’t any easier to watch the video the more times it played; the heartbreak only grew.
I woke up that next morning to the usual outpouring of support from colleagues, loved ones, friends, and family. “Yes, it is a tragedy.” “No, I’m at home.” “No, I don’t believe I knew anyone involved.” Understandable concern by all, and I knew somewhere texts just like mine weren’t being returned.
I went downstairs to take care of the dog and finish my taxes. I had multiple news feeds going on my computer and would check back for updates regularly. I prayed for a survivor to be found somewhere, anywhere, but mostly found myself giving thanks that families would be able to lay a loved one to rest giving closure which sometimes is not the case in such tragedies.
Then, I was struck by the odd sensation of needing to go for a run.
This isn’t completely unusual, I usually like to run three or four times a week, but it is odd that I felt so compelled, at that moment, to run.
Twenty minutes later, I found myself on a treadmill staring at a bank of TV screens each tuned to a news channels. Thankfully, the run wasn’t intended to be a distraction, but I watched as the news channels did their thing—bringing on guests to do their best to make sense of the tragedy.
Why did this happen? When will we learn? What will we learn? As the world asks these questions, I had one of my own—why am I running? I should be pouring over news feeds, checking in with friends, reassuring nervous flyers that while this is tragic, the system is still robust and safe. And yet, here I was, on this treadmill.
I reflected on the odd feeling of needing to run and settled on a few facts:
I am running because this morning I am blessed to be able to do so.
I am running because of those who can’t run any longer.
I am running because somewhere, someone is frozen to their bed in grief.
I am running for my friends and colleagues who know someone involved.
I am running for my friends and colleagues who didn’t yet grieve.
I am running for the air traffic controllers, technicians, ramp agents, gate agents, food service providers, ticket counter agents, airport operations workers, and all aviation employees who work in harmony to create the safest chain of aviation safety in the world.
I am running for those horrible times, when the chain breaks.
But mostly, I am running because running is a forward movement, and in instances where forward movement seems impossible, that is when it is most critical.
I am moving forward by making sure that I can do the best job possible for my link in the chain.
I am moving forward by honoring the victims by taking the extra time to brief the crew before, during, and after a flight.
I am moving forward by remembering that vigilance is always required in this line of work.
I am moving forward, because the only way to make ourselves, our industry, our world, better is to keep moving forward.
