It isn't as brutal as it sounds, a 12-hour jaunt across the Pacific.

In fact, I found Monday's flight from Seattle to Beijing followed the usual trajectory of personal catharsis. I started with hubris, convinced that the two books stuffed in my carry-on would see me through, in the process accomplishing some needed brain jazzer-cising.

But just a half hour in, focus was elusive. The seat was stiff and defiant to fitting my spine. There was some potent medicinal scent from another passenger that refused to go away, regardless of where I oriented my nostrils. And there was always that dour "beep-boop" signal to flight attendants that perpetually reminded me of where I was: 30,000 feet up and shackled there for a very long time.

This followed with desperation.

I tried immersing myself in my Chinese phrase book. Surely shaping these alien intonations would provide diversion.

But I was soon fielding some odd looks from my Chinese neighbors as I murmured greetings under my breath. I was strongly suspicious that my pronunciation was way off the mark. Back in the carry-on it went.

Another possibility was the private TV screen lit before my face. A little brain numbing was surely in order here.

More disappointment. Unlike others' screens, which appeared to have a limitless choice of movies, mine was busted. My 12 hours of potential television input was restricted to "Nanny McPhee," some giddy J-Lo flick and "Ironman 2" in French or Spanish.

I reached the acceptance stage. I watched them all, I loathe to admit. I couldn't help it. There's only so long one can sit in the dark listening to an iPod before madness sets in.

Then followed depression (you would think this would come before acceptance, but travel is rife with surprises). The hours dragged the most when the flight attendants darkened the overhead lighting for obligatory nap time. Restless and anxious about the days ahead, I sat staring at the movies I was achingly tired of watching, my stomach angrily balking from lack of nourishment.

Relief came at last. The TV image of our plane inching along its travel trajectory had nearly completed its red thread when the lights flickered back on.

It was better than any sunrise I had known. The darkened seats previously filled with ominous silhouettes were now home to rousing, smiling passengers.

Window shades were tugged up to reveal glittering clouds saturated with sun.

Despite the fact my brain was wired to know it was just past midnight in Coeur d'Alene, the light was soothing, invigorating. It compelled my body to believe that energy was in limitless supply.

I passed other members of the chamber tour in the traffic to the restrooms, and our wide eyes and shaking heads said it all without words.

Judy Roehr of Coeur d'Alene admitted that she and some others had attempted to get a breather by hanging out in First Class, but "we got in trouble for loitering," she said with a sigh.

But all things considered, it wasn't that bad. I think when we board for the return flight, we'll all be able to tell our neighbors that it will be over before they know it.

They just have to go through the steps.

Alecia Warren is a reporter for The Press touring China with other North Idahoans through the Coeur d'Alene and Post Falls chambers of commerce. She will be reporting daily on the group's adventures.