Ahh Saratoga Springs, New York. The wonderful land of quaint small town shops and bars, beautiful parks around a famous race track. And now home to one of my most embarrasing moments.
Some people bring home souveneirs, I bring home shame.
I headed up to Saratoga on Friday after work. Amtrak did it's job, getting me there in under 4 hours, and I even got a seat (it seems that AMtrak--like Greyhound--like to overbook, more on that later) next to some local Saratoga folks who gave me the inside skinny on the local hot spots and a lecture about the gentrification of the town (OH MY GOD--STARBUCKS!).
Best Dressed's Saratoga home was adorable and a great place for me to spruce up to hit up the local bars. Who knew that SS, NY had such a booming night life? Streets closed off, crowds of people in the road, a million bars, bands playing on small stages--I haven't seen anything this sick since my Austin, TX trip back in '03. Needless to say, beers were consumed by Little and myself but I kept it under control. I was fully aware that we had a long day ahead of us the following day as we had to be up at 9 am to go to the race track.
When we woke up the following morning, I felt groggy and had a headache but it wasn't anything a shower, tylenol and a morning mimosa couldn't fix--or so I thought. We showed up at the track and were shown to our tent. Best Dressed's dad had hooked us up with table in the owner's tent. It had a huge buffet, waitress service and we were right on the rails. It was amazing--except for the heat. I started sweating (and I didn't even wear a hat!) profusely but thought nothing of it since everyone else was drenched too. When our first orders of mimosas showed I took one look at them and started to feel ill. The kind of ill you feel after a long night of drinking when you are about to have a projectile puke. Gross. Luckily, we had also ordered water and I grabbed an ice cold Dasani out of the bucket and took a few sips. No help there. At. all.
I totallyw alked out of a conversation with the college crowd and stood in front of an industrial fan. You would think it would help. But blowing 95 degree hot air at industrial force only made me sweat more. And then feel like my legs couldn't stand.
So I sat. And then I closed my eyes. And then I put my head down.
The next thing I knew, Little and a Best Dressed's dad were dousing me with water soaked cloth napkins and ice. I was forced to drink small sips of water and crunch on ice chips. Then. it. happened. I heard the fateful words:
"I NEED A MEDIC!"
And did the medics come. I heard about 5 showed up, asking me invasive questions (They kept asking me if I was preggers in front of ALL of my friends and I wasn't even wearing an empire waist dress!). I was in and out for the next few minutes and I couldn't really tell what was going on around me because I couldn't open my eyes.
Then came the wheel chair. Yes, an effing wheel chair. That I had to be picked up and put in. I was wheeled out of the fancy pants tent, and I can only imagine what everyone was thinking ("Did she drink too much?" - No, the frigging races haven't even started yet. "Is she pregnant?" - No, totally impossible...trust me, it's been a bit of a dry spell).
Oh but it gets better. Outside of the tent, the medics proceeded to place an oxygyn mask on my face and take my pulse and blood pressure. Little's good friend LT followed me in the chair, a nice gesture so Little wouldn't miss any of the races (and a picture in the winner's circle and all this fun stuff that happened when I was melting).
I was wheeled across the entire grounds to the medic station. As soon as I felt the air conditioning I started to feel a lot better. A doctor grilled me ("Are you pregnant?") and a nice nurse brought me some Lemon/Lime Gatorade. I was quicly on the road to recover with a wet cloth and ice pack on my head. LT and I started laughing, only because it was sort of funny...I mean really, who gets an oxygyn mask. The saddest part, once I started feeling better and it was decided I didn't need an IV, we were the most concerned on whether I could drink or not or if I would make it out that night.
When I made it back to the tent I was greeted with applause. I was the comback kid--a wise one who stuck to water for the remainder of the races.
Once the sun went down, I started proclaiming that we all had to "PUMP IT UP!" since we were all exhausted. After dinner, I thought a celebratory beer would be appropriate. And indeed it was. The boozy floozy was back. And while most of the party pooped out by 12:30, Jonesy was in the last cab home still proclaiming that we needed to "PUMP IT UP!"
Pump it up, You've got ot pump it up.
I had a great time (minus the almost passing out and extreme public embarassment). I learned to bet on the ponies, I learned all about Saratoga Springs history (thanks train friends!) and I learned to always chug a few glasses of water after a long night of drinking.
And most of all I learned that a good rally from a short, pale Irish girl in a dress is definitley impressive.