OK, I know that I am lagging behind in online reports, and I will eventually get around to bringing everyone up to speed (if you want the abbreviated version imagine the wrong runners, plus miserable weather, plus the wrong runners again, plus bronchitis, plus can't-find-any-runners-the-night-before-I-race, plus ummm ... let's call it GI distress ... plus thank-you-for-letting-me-borrow- your-$1000-runners-an-hour-before-race-time, equals my first podium finish on the America's Cup circuit).

But here's a story that compels me to stop all my sitting-around-doing-nothing and log on to make a report to my adoring public.

So today is my second and last day of official training for the America's Cup race in Calgary this weekend. I am tenth off, and standing on the start line, helmet on, mouth guard in, spandex gleaming in the freezing, windy, overcast daylight, waiting for the slider in front of me to complete his run. I am watching the clock for his finish time, which should be somewhere around one minute. As the clock gets to 1:09 you start thinking, geez, that must have been a lousy run. As it passes 1:16 you begin to guess that he might have met his match with corner 8. When it gets to 1:23 you look over to the officials with an eyebrow raised and they quickly radio the tower. Before I could lower my eyebrow the loudspeaker blares "Hold at start."

You learn early on that, in Calgary, this announcement translates to "Some amateur just flipped out of corner eight and lost their sled, and now we need to go pull their bleeding carcass out of the track and figure out where their sled ended up." Not that that announcement has ever been made after I left the starting block. And certainly not twice.

Normally it takes no more than a few minutes to make sure everyone is okay and to clear the track of any debris. Because this was official training for a race, there is some extra protocol that needs to be followed, including the officials checking the track, and a forerunner going down before any more of the competitors do.

So, off with my helmet and back inside, since we knew it would take a few extra minutes.

And a few more minutes after that.

Then an announcement that there is a 15-minute hold.

Then an announcement that there is a 30-minute hold.

Soon word makes its way up the track as to the cause of the hold.

Alright, you ready for this?

As predicted, the slider before me flipped out of corner eight, which is a common crash spot for newcomers to Calgary and generally nothing too spectacular. The corner just rolls you over and you either roll back right side up, or you let go of your sled and slide to a stop. That's never happened to me. Except this one time.

So this guy flipped out of corner eight and wasn't able to hold on to his sled and he eventually just comes to a stop, which is normal. What is NOT NORMAL? Apparently, his sled got tossed up onto its side, and started flipping end over end, sending it flying OUT OF THE TRACK AND INTO A TRACK WORKER who was standing on the side.

Everyone at the top was just blinking in disbelief. No one had ever heard of a sled coming out of the track.

Sometimes it's really easy to get caught up in the nuances of the sport: darn, I scratched my runners; man, it's freezing out here and I am wearing spandex; good grief, why is the guy in front of me taking so long?

And then, reality check, you are reminded of the crazy thing you are doing, and that the people involved risk getting thrown off of a sled going 110 kph, or worse, getting clocked by a solid, 60-pound piece of steel flying through the air at 80 kph.

Yes, it is as bad as it sounds.

As far as we know, the track worker is as okay as could be, all things considered. He had to go to the hospital, and I can't imagine that he doesn't have a few broken bones.

Eventually our coach called our session quits, since we had been waiting around for two hours, and because it is our home track, we don't need the official training runs as much as some of the visiting nations might.

The lesson? Ummm ... well ... same lesson as you get every single day in life. Things happen.

On Saturday, I will go back to the track, put on my spandex and step onto the starting block to race, without giving it a second thought.