But the starting point for Runway 22 — the one the plane was supposed to be on — lies approximately 900 feet beyond the start point for Runway 26, which is half the length of 22.

In addition, there is a small jog to the left before reaching the end of Runway 26, just like there is before Runway 22, and even someone familiar with the airfield might be fooled.

Now, put these factors together and you begin to get a rough idea of why a simple mistake turns out to be so complex.

Add in a possible half-remembered reference to runway lights being out, and the opportunity to fixate on the first runway you come to as the correct one (even though unlighted) and it all becomes more explicable.

Pilots are human, and humans — once we decide something is true — tend to discount subtle clues to the contrary.

There is little doubt that both pilots Sunday morning were dumbstruck as they accelerated down what they thought was a 7,000-foot runway and suddenly found themselves facing the end of the concrete while still far below flying speed.

There would have been only two options: Try to stop and guarantee a major crash, or try to fly, and maybe, just maybe, be able to lift away from the nightmare.

Most of us would have chosen to try to fly, because that's where pilots live.

In this case, the Comair jet may have been pulled up at too slow a speed, in which case it would have been able to lift off the ground, riding a cushion of compressed air referred to as "ground effect."

But it would not have been able to climb above that cushion — which is, at best, half the wingspan — and skimming above the ground no more than 20 feet high at more than 100 miles per hour with no ability to get over the trees and farm buildings ahead, the physics of the situation would have been impossible to overcome.