I dragged a Boeing 757 with my own hands: but the Delta Jet Drag is much more than 10 seconds of glory

I pulled a Boeing 757 with my own hands. Said like that, it sounds like one of those things to be told at the bar, between beers and "you won't believe it." In reality, after participating in the Delta Jet Drag 2026 in Atlanta, I realized that those few seconds of effort are only the most scenic part of a much larger story.

Because yes, there is a huge plane to move. There is the stopwatch. There are the teams, the uniforms, the screaming, the photos, the videos, and that adrenaline rush that comes when the Boeing 757 finally starts to move. But behind it all there is one thing that impressed me far more than the race: A whole community moving to help those who are battling cancer.

And, I admit, I had come to this unprepared.

First of all: I had stopped at the surface

In recent days I participated in the 25th Delta Jet Drag. Before I got to Atlanta, I had a fairly simple idea: I had seen a few videos online, read a few press releases, talked to people who had already attended. I thought it was a curious event, very American, a little crazy, and definitely perfect for telling.

In part it is. Because only in America can such a thing exist: 25 people lining up, grabbing a rope and trying to drag a Boeing 757 weighing about 115 tons by 7.6 meters, in the shortest possible time.

But the point is different: Jet Drag is not "just" the moment when you pull the plane. That lasts a few seconds. Everything else lasts for months, involves hundreds of people and, most importantly, has a real impact.

The history of the Delta Jet Drag: from crazy idea to huge tradition

The Delta Jet Drag was born almost as a game in the hangars of Delta, within the TechOps world. Then, over the years, it became something much more structured: a corporate tradition, a charitable event, a moment of collective identity.

In 2010, when the event took shape as a fundraiser for theAmerican Cancer Society, there were 22 teams and just under $39,000 was raised. Today we are on another planet: about 180 teams, hundreds of participants, Delta employees, partners, volunteers, frequent flyers, and people who have come from all corners of the United States and beyond.

The format is simple and very powerful: each team consists of 25 people, the goal is to move the Boeing 757 as quickly as possible. The symbolic target is to stay under 15 seconds, because in the United States, according to the organizers' account, a cancer diagnosis arrives about that frequently.

And when you discover this detail, the stopwatch changes meaning.

It is not a corporate party. It is a community that identifies with a cause

I have never worked in a big company. I have never experienced from the inside those giant American realities where the sense of belonging, when it works, becomes almost a second skin. So maybe I'm wrong, maybe I got swept up in the moment. But what I saw in the Delta hangars did not resemble a corporate party built to do communication.

It looked much more like a community.

It was not the Christmas dinner with the famous singer. It was not the classic team building in the desert with motivational slides and photos from LinkedIn. It was an event where people came with their own stories, their own wounds, their own memories, and a sincere desire to do something.

The most symbolic team, not surprisingly, is. Hope Thrives: a team composed of Delta employees who have survived cancer or have been caregivers, i.e., people who have accompanied family members, friends or colleagues during the disease.

There, when you find out, you realize that you are no longer watching a race. You're watching people who, for a few seconds, are pulling a plane but they're actually pulling something much heavier: fear, pain, memory, gratitude, hope.

I swiped the paper. The others put their hearts into it

Charity is the key to everything. But we are not talking about the classic front operation, the one where you put a logo on a giant check, take two pictures, and then everyone goes home. I, probably, was the black sheep. I participated, I made my donation, I swiped the card as if I were buying a plane ticket and left. The end. The others do not.

My team, the Grecier gazelles formed by more than 100 people, raised just under 150 thousand dollars. And the most impressive thing is that most of the donations did not even come from people at the event. It came from friends, colleagues, family members, acquaintances, businesses, people who simply wanted to contribute.

Teams arrive with customized uniforms, gadgets, banquets, auctions, internal initiatives. There are teams that fundraise for months, that organize micro-events, that involve entire departments. I have seen people compete in a charity auction for a few dozen dollars worth of an item and raise it to outsized figures, not because that item was really worth that money, but because the point was something else.

The point was to donate.

The moment when I felt like an impostor

At one point I discovered something that made me almost ashamed of my superficiality. For some participants, pulling the plane is not even the most important moment of the day. There are those who, after their race is over, say goodbye to the team and go to the hospital to meet patients, to bring a smile, to support families, to share with those who are fighting the joy of that day.

I had arrived thinking, "I'm going to Atlanta, pull a plane, tell a curious story."

They were there for more than that.

And at that moment I felt like an impostor. Because I had looked at the surface: the Boeing 757, the stopwatch, the American strangeness. They, on the other hand, were experiencing something that arose from personal experiences, from grief, from battles won, from battles still open.

It was not Telethon for the media. In fact, the media hardly existed. The cameras were mostly from the participants' cell phones, people who wanted to take home a memory, not press coverage.

The beautiful America, the one we hardly ever see

When I wrote in recent days that I would fly to Atlanta specifically for the Delta Jet Drag, someone told me that I evidently had nothing better to do. That may be so. But there were people in Delta's hangars who had come from all corners of the planet just for this. Proud employees of their team, families, volunteers, partners, frequent flyers, people who really believed.

I saw the beautiful America. The one we rarely see in the news. That of community, of coming together for a cause, of believing in something and fighting side by side. I saw people take off their hats and put their hands over their hearts as a Delta employee sang the American anthem in a voice to put half the music scene to shame. I saw pride, emotion, true participation.

And yes, it is a very American thing. Maybe even too American for us Europeans. But it's also something that, when you see it live, it leaves a question on you: Why do we have such a hard time creating this kind of belonging over here?

Those 10 seconds with your hands on the rope

Then your turn comes. You line up with the other 24 on the team. In front you have a Boeing 757. Not a silhouette, not a simulator, not a motivational metaphor: a real plane. One of those you normally watch from the terminal window, certainly not from attached to a rope.

The hardest part is not pulling it for 7.6 meters. The hardest part is the first two steps. When the plane is stationary, it seems impossible. You pull, push with your legs, feel the rope pulling on your hands, your body seeking traction, others screaming, someone giving time. For a moment it seems as if nothing moves.

Then the 757 gives way. It starts to move. And that's when everything changes. From then on it becomes almost a piece of cake. Not because it is easy, but because by now the giant has woken up. And you just have to keep going with it, without giving up. We closed in 10.986 seconds. Not enough to win, but enough to be able to say: mission accomplished.

Who won the Delta Jet Drag 2026

For the annals, it was once again the defending champions who won the 2026 edition. A true 25-energy dream team that has dominated this race for years.

This year, however, they did not improve: they remained above 7 seconds. That said sounds almost normal, but you have to remember that we are talking about dragging a Boeing 757. Under 7 seconds we are more in the parts of science fiction than corporate sports.

To join certain teams, it is not enough to show up in the right T-shirt. You have to donate, participate, be selected. It almost sounds like an NFL camp, only instead of the Super Bowl, there is a fundraiser for those fighting cancer.

An event that changes the way you look at Delta

As frequent flyers, we are used to judging airlines by their seats, lounges, catering, Wi-Fi, punctuality, loyalty programs, and all those things that make us discuss them every day. And it's only fair. Because at the end of the day, we are passengers, we pay for tickets, we accumulate miles, and we have every right to expect service up to par.

But events like the Delta Jet Drag show another side of an airline. Not what you see on board, but what lives behind the scenes: the employees, the teams, the personal stories, the sense of belonging. One can be critical of Delta, as one can of any other company. But in the face of an organizational machine capable of turning a hangar into a day of fundraising, remembrance and hope, one must also recognize that there is something powerful.

Jet drag doesn't make you fly better. It doesn't give you upgrades, it doesn't give you miles, it doesn't open a lounge. But it does make you understand why for many people an airline is not just a logo on the fuselage.

Do we make the Italian team next year?

I don't have official statistics, but I think this year. the Italians present were very few. I and two Delta employees from Rome, whom I salute and congratulate: with their team they beat us by a few hundredths of a second.

So the crazy idea is this: why not try to create an Italian team for Delta Jet Drag 2027? A team of Italian shooters. A real fundraiser. A trip to Atlanta not to shop, not to experience a lounge, not to chase status, but to participate in a real cause and experience from the inside one of the most incredible events I have ever seen in the aviation world.

The event normally takes place between late April and early May. In 2027 there will not even be convenient bridges, because April 25 will fall on a Sunday and May 1 on a Saturday. But for a good cause one can also take a few days off.

I'll throw it out there: shall we make the Italian team? Because yes, pulling a Boeing 757 is crazy. But doing it to help those battling cancer is one of those follies that, at least once in a lifetime, is worth experiencing.