Park City, Utah - America's Cup Races 1 and 2
We left for Park City the day after Nationals, so I didn't even had a chance to think about the weekend.

This time, instead of the 15-hour drive to Utah, we got to fly. Which was almost better than, say, chocolate-covered chocolate. And then the fun began.

We started training the next day. I woke up with a bit of a cough, but figured it was just the dry air or the cold or maybe the altitude. We were off to the track bright and early to watch the athletes on the Intercontinental Cup tour do their training runs, then we walked the track and finally we got to slide.

Now, I had been to Park City twice last year, so I was familiar with the track. But after my first run, you would've guessed that it was not only my first time in Park City, but my first time ever doing skeleton. I skidded through the top half of the track, then went as late as I could into the hardest corner, which meant that the pressure hit hard. Really. Hard. My head slammed into the ice and by the time I figured out where I was I had crushed into the wall exiting the corner and hit the roof in the next two corners, and for the last seven corners I was just holding on for dear life.

As I dragged my broken and thoroughly bewildered self off the track, I tried to figure out exactly what bus I just been hit by. But my confusion turned very quickly into frustration, especially after my weekend performance at nationals, and that frustration turned very quickly into a bit of low-grade anger (it's only high-grade anger if tantrums and throwing things are involved ... and we all know what happens when you start throwing skeleton sleds around ... )

The minute I got back to the top of the track, I tore off my spikes, threw on my snowpants and boots and marched myself through three feet of snow, down to corner six where my coaches were watching. Right in between the two runs of my training session. I was pretty close to losing it. Nope, scratch that. I was in the middle of losing it. I was ready to sell my sled, take the money and move to any country that does not have ice.

My coaches chilled me out, in every way that I needed. They reminded me that it was only my second year sliding and it was my first run down the track that year. They reminded me that I wouldn't be in Park City at all if they didn't think I deserved to be there, or had any potential. We made a plan to just get through my next training run, and then we would go from there.

So I took the truck back up to the top, laced up my spikes, strapped on my helmet and ... took another dismal, last-place, head-smashing run down the track.

Sigh.

I'll abbreviate the next day: woke up with bronchitis ... or pneumonia ... or meningitis ... or something deadly, there was two feet of fresh snow on the ground, which 50 kph winds simply picked up and placed conveniently in the track, in turn causing delays in training, and eventually canceling our second training run, which was fine since I had strategically smashed my head into corner six, AGAIN, and was already posting "Sled for sale" signs on the bulletin board at the bottom of the track.

That evening one of my coaches took a look at my sled and runners, to see if he could find anything wrong beyond pure athletic incompetence. After examining my runners, he said to me "I'm not sure, but I think these runners might be men's big wheels." In English this means "I'm not sure, but I think these runners might be meant to be used by men, on warm ice."

Which might be a problem, considering the last week of weather had been, say, MINUS A MILLION, and, correct me if I am wrong, but I have long been under the impression that I AM NOT A MAN.

Sigh.

So that would explain my problems during nationals, and my problems in training in Park City.

See, here's what happened: last year I slid on a pair of standard runners. In November, I had asked my coach for a pair of training runners back. At the same time, he had been looking at my race runners, and had noted that they were very flat, a result of being overused and over-polished. He brought me a pair of runners that we both thought were the training runners from my old sled, but when we took the covers off, it turned out that they were a pair of race runners. Since my other runners were flat, I asked him if I could trade him for these runners, not even considering that they may not be the same cut as the runners I had been using for more than a year. The first time I used these runners was for a local race, just before Christmas, on a nice warm day, which would explain why I was able to have a PB time. Coming back after Christmas, I just bolted in the same runners, having no idea that they would be the bane of my existence for the next two weeks of my life.

But I guess it's better to learn about runner cuts and styles now, even if it meant performing so badly at Nationals, then, say, at the Olympics.

So back to Park City, where, upon advice from my coach, I spent the evening begging any and everyone for a pair of spare runners that I might be able to borrow, which goes something like this: "Hi, Lindsay Alcock, two-time Olympian. Can I borrow your $1000 pair of runners? I'll try not to scratch them." It's about as comfortable as watching a movie sex scene while sitting next to your parents.

OK ... so I didn't actually ask Lindsay Alcock if I could borrow a pair of runners ... I was way too chicken. And I had a few other options before I hit that level of desperation. It turned out that one of my teamates did have a pair of women's standard (or cold ice) runners that she wasn't using and was willing to lend me. Which was very convenient, considering that the ice was cold AND I am a women.

So the next day was looking bright. It wasn't snowing, it wasn't windy, and I dropped FOUR seconds off my time. Amazing what proper equipment can do for you. After training we had to get our sleds checked, to make sure they conformed to the rules. And my still-unnamed baby passed with flying colours. Oh, except my runners were illegal.

Sigh.

So that evening, the night before the race, I am back to knocking on doors trying to find someone, anyone who has anything that I could use. "Hi, Jeff Pain, two-time Olympian and Olympic silver medalist. Can I borrow your $1000 pair of runners? I'll try not to scratch them." Are you kidding me? I'd rather eat mushrooms than make that request. And I'd rather take cough syrup than eat mushrooms. And I'd rather cough to death than take cough syrup.

I was finally able to track down a friend from Calgary who had driven down to Park City to forerun for our races, which meant that she didn't need to have legal equipment and consented to letting me use her runners for the race. A MILLION THANKS TO RINDY. (who I happened to notice has a really top-notch website ... )

To make a long story short, wrong runners, plus miserable weather, plus the wrong runners again, plus bronchitis, plus can't-find-any-runners-the-night-before-I-race, plus thank-you-for-letting-me-borrow-your-$1000-runners-an-hour-before-race-time equals:

I raced well on the first day of racing, finishing 11 of 20 in yet-again miserable weather. And on the second day of racing I was sixth after my first run, and was able to hold my spot and then some after my second run, finishing 4 of 12, and finding myself on the podium for the first time in my America's Cup career.

It was one miserable week. And I wouldn't trade it for any other experience.