Well. Now THAT Was an Epic Fail.

They say "If you're going to go, go big."

And so I did.  I had absolutely, hands down, no question, the worst race event of my life.  If you're going to fail, why not really fail?

This weekend's trip to Salt Lake City for the final race of the season--an American Cup event--did not get off to a good start.  Weighed down by thoughts of my poor season of racing, a week of bad workouts, and the dark shadow of my Salt Lake City Curse--as well as tired from a sleep-deprived week--I was apparently exhibiting less than my usual pre-trip enthusiasm as the Hubster drove me to the airport.

"You don't seem too excited about this," he ventured.

"Huh?  What?" I said, awakening from a doze.  "Oh, yeah...I'm not. I'm not expecting this to go well."

"You know, you can cancel your ticket."

Trust me when I say that midway through the drive to the airport is not the time to make this suggestion.

Not that I didn't consider the option for a second or two.  But then I reminded myself that it would be a logistical nightmare to cancel now, and besides, how bad could the weekend be?

Turns out I shouldn't have asked that.

The trip went fine, though, and by 8:00 Friday night I was sitting in my hotel room in Salt Lake City, sorting out my race gear for the following morning and trying to figure out just how early I'd have to get up to make the 7 am warmup time.  So far, so good.

And Saturday morning started off at least moderately well, too.  True, I was a bit surprised to find absolutely nobody at the oval when I arrived at 6:30; this was explained when I discovered that warmup actually started at 7:20 and not at 7:00.  The guy who was setting up the electronic timing device was kind enough to tell me to go ahead and skate anyway, which was nice because it allowed me to complete my plan.  Since I often travel to events the night before the races and therefore have no time to get used to the ice before race day, Coach TieGuy used to tell me to do a short warmup, get off the ice and do some jogging or stationary biking, and then get back on the ice.  This way, your brain and body think they've now had two "get accustomed to the ice" times rather than one.

So I completed my two warmups, and then wandered around aimlessly until it was time to do my 500.  And then I pretty much wandered aimlessly through my 500; it was slow, clumsy, and at 48.7 seconds, entirely forgettable.  To put this time in perspective, 48.7 seconds is an average Milwaukee 500--and Salt Lake should be at least a second a lap faster than Milwaukee. So I was not impressed--but not surprised--by my 500.

The "not impressed but not surprised" continued into the 1500.  My entry into my workout/race log for the 1500 consists of "horrible, tired, flat, blew every corner entry."  Not much more to say about the 1500, except that the time--2:27--was the same as my Roseville Personal Best, and slower than my Milwaukee PB.  Clearly not a good result.

Still, the day wasn't a total loss.  Sprinter Boy, who is the go-to guy for restaurant selection in the Minnesota Masters crowd, steered us to In N Out Burger  for dinner, and he and Hawkeye Boy and I carbo-loaded for the Sunday races with cheeseburgers, fries, and chocolate shakes.  Hey, I skated like crap--I might as well eat like crap, too.  And I must say I enjoyed the burger much more than I enjoyed the races.

Then I went back to my room to watch TV and surf the web a bit on my tablet...and that's when the trip suddenly unraveled.  As I looked up from the tablet to the TV, the room lurched and then began to spin. And every time I'd move or turn my head, the spinning, sliding sensation would increase.

What the....?

Thinking it might be a vision thing, from switching my view between electronic devices, I put the tablet away and concentrated on the TV.  Still, the room continued lurching, spinning, and swaying.  And when I went to my suitcase to get the charger for the tablet, I squatted down, turned my head to look into the corner of the suitcase...and promptly fell over.

Well. I was not amused.  In fact, I was beginning to get a bit freaked out.  There's a reason I've never gone on a cruise--I like my hotel rooms to stay stationary, and here I was in a perfectly nice landlocked room, feeling like I was on a small ship on the high seas.

So I called the Hubster, and then I called the nurse helpline, and then I called the Hubster back.  And then, in the midst of all these call, I suddenly began to feel very sick in addition to the dizziness.

"I"ll call you back," I said to the Hubster, and then I spent the next hour sitting in the bathroom waiting to see whether the In N Out burger would live up to its name.

Fortunately it didn't, and the nausea subsided as suddenly as it had come.  But the vertigo continued well past midnight, until finally, at 2 am, I was able to lie down without having flashbacks to that one night in college.  But I didn't sleep much, and by 5 am I had decided that I should probably scratch the Sunday races.  I had also decided that there was no way I would fly home Monday if I still felt like I was on a Tilt-a-Whirl, and maybe the Hubster could fly out and drive me home...

I had planned to get up when the alarm rang, call one of the other Minnesota skaters and ask them to scratch me from the races when they got to the oval, and then go back to bed.  When I was still wide awake at 6 am, though--and mostly non-dizzy--I decided to just get up and go to the oval.  I could scratch myself from the races, watch everyone else compete...and if the vertigo came back, I could find someone who could drive me to Urgent Care.  What more could I ask for?

So I went to the oval.  And as I walked in and started up the stairs to find someone who could cross my name off of the entry lists for 10k worth of races--a 1000, a 3k, and a 15-lap mass start--the oval sound system, in a moment of cruel irony, launched into the song that most reminds me of my best weekend of skating ever (it's Guns N' Roses' "Sweet Child O' Mine," if you must know).  Thanks...way to twist the knife!

After I removed myself from the start lists, I hunted down the EMT who was working the meet.  After listening to my symptoms and asking a few questions, he said that he thought my issue was...altitude sickness.

Really?  At 4200 feet?  Seriously?

Well, yes, he was serious.  He said he taught altitude sickness clinics, and my experience was not atypical.  Unfortunate, yes, but not atypical...and at least it isn't something I'll need to worry about recurring.

Unless, of course, I go back to Salt Lake and skate a race again sometime.  Looks like the Salt Lake Curse just added another component.

So I hung out at the oval all day and watched everyone race.  Mel, Sprinter Boy, and Hawkeye Boy all had good days, setting PB's and enjoying the fast ice.  In a way I wished I was racing...but the mild dizziness I experienced when I turned my head slightly, and the fatigue I felt when I walked halfway around the rink to the backstretch to give Sprinter and Hawkeye their lap times for the 5k, convinced me that I'd made the right decision.  I didn't feel relatively normal until later that evening, and I'm pretty sure that the way I felt would not have been helpful to racing...and vice versa.

So now, after a relatively uneventful trip home (if you don't count getting lost in the rental car parking lot.  Twice.), I need to spend some time taking stock of the previous season, and figuring out what I want to do differently next season.

Because I really want to avoid more weekends like this one.