This is Part II of the Hellfire Saga from the Outdoor Retailer Summer Market 2011. If you haven't read Part I, this won't make much sense. This post is decidedly not meal-friendly. If you're trying to eat breakfast or something and you run across this page, just skip over it. Check out some gear reviews or something.
Once we get our photos taken for Kobe's Wall of Heroes, the group goes our separate ways for the night. Ana, Will Rochfort from
Backpacker Magazine, and Chris Weiss from
Uncooped.com all pile into my rental car to head back into Salt Lake City. Chris has to catch the last train home, and Will, Ana and I are all eager to make it to the Teva 80's Rocker party at Club Elevate. We head to the Radisson Hotel to drop Ana off and regroup.
About halfway to the Radisson I start to get an odd feeling around the perimeter of my stomach-it's like fiery hands have gripped my sides and are creeping toward my stomach. Things start to get a little disjointed here, so bear with me.
- In my head, I see villagers with pitchforks and torches surrounding my stomach to excise the monster that just took residence. -
As we approach the hotel, the pain gets worse. I'm sweating again. I put my head on the steering wheel at stoplights and tell my passengers to tell me when the light turns green.
By the time I pull into the parking garage, the pain had coalesced into a ball of fire right behind my navel, expelling waves of pain unlike anything I've ever felt.
- You know those 3D renderings of the Earth's core you see on the Discovery Channel? The glowing, swirling ball of magma? It's right there in my gut. -
When I finally park, I fall out of the car and throw up between two motorcycles parked next to me. It's just the milk and water that I drank after the challenge, so there's little relief, if any.
The waves of pain and pressure are getting worse; I can barely think at this point. Broken bones, dislocations, dental surgery, groin kicks, all of these pale in comparison to what I'm feeling.
I wave to everyone to go ahead without me, that I'll meet them at the party, then I sprawl on the floor, hoping the cement will cool me off. Having my stomach touching the ground makes things worse, so I crouch into a fetal position, on my knees and forearms with my head down. I focus on my breathing to take my mind off the pain as I see sweat pouring off of my face onto the concrete. Blackness starts to creep into my vision, but never overtakes it.
- Why the hell am I not passing out? -
Will has to take off, so he comes over and tries to give me a hug. While I'm curled up in the fetal position on the floor, he gingerly puts his arms around my stomach, tells me to feel better, then stands up, pats me on the back, and takes off.
At this point, I'm so blinded by my pain that I couldn't tell you where I was, but I still had the wherewithal to think man, what an awkward hug.
Chris doesn't want to miss the last train back to his house, so he gets my keys, grabs his stuff out of the trunk, leaves my keys next to me, apologizes, then heads home. Some might think it indelicate, but to his credit, he called to check up on me later on.
That left Ana to deal with some writer dying on the floor of her hotel's parking garage. At this point, I'm not my usual articulate self, so when Ana asks if water might help, I gurgle something like "yuh."
When she runs off to the restaurant, I realize that there's only one thing worse than writhing in agony in a parking garage: doing it alone. Without people to distract me, all I have is pain and uncertainty to keep me company.
- How long is this going to last? Did I ruin my digestive system? When am I going to pass out already? -
I reach for my phone to call an ambulance, then think about my insurance. What's my deductible? Have I met my minimum yet? Does Blue Shield pay less for out-of-state stuff? I decide the only thing worse than the pain would be explaining my $10,000 medical bill to my wife, so I decide to tough it out.
By the time Ana is back with the water, the pain has subsided a bit. It's more of a general burning on the periphery of my stomach again, and I can stand up finally. She helps me up to her room so I can vomit in privacy. Once I lock myself in her bathroom, the pain is concentrated fire again. I go through this twenty-minute cycle of pain two or three more times, rolling over on my side, flopping into the bathtub, trying anything to make it stop, when I decide to try to throw up the toxic waste in my stomach. This is harrowing, because the only advice Chef Alex gave was against this very act.
"Da wast paat is if you t'row up," he said. "You tase all da hot all obah again."
Screw it - I'm dyin' here. I open the door and give Ana the head's up that I'm going to puke. Then I shut the door and go to work.
It's worse than I thought. It's every bit as hot as when I actually ate the sushi, but this time it's not just in my mouth, but now it's in my sinuses and on my lips. I'm too exhausted to run around and freak out like I did the first time, so I just slump back against the wall and let the pain take me.
After about five minutes of sitting there, eyes shut, tears running down my face, I realize that I'm actually sitting up. Another fifteen minutes, and Ana offers me a granola bar, which I gingerly eat. The worst is over. I make may way down to the car, back to my hotel, and collapse in my bed.
The next morning, I make my way to the Columbia booth to see how Scott's doing - he's a bit shaky, but smiling. It turns out that he ended up pulling the trigger on the hospital visit; he tells me that he headed down to the ER, where they gave him a shot of lidocaine to numb his insides. It worked, he said, but it didn't last long enough. Then, without complaint, he's off to his first appointment of the day. Like a true warrior.
The people that I pass on the way to my first appointment are gearing up for another busy day at OR. Many are pale, with bags under their eyes and shaky smiles, suffering the effects of what I'm sure was a great night at the Teva party. Lightweights.
I hold my head high as I stagger through the Salt Palace. I'm bummed that I missed the party, but I got to taste the hottest of the hot and I lived through an experience that I will never, ever forget.
When I run into the various participants from the night before, we recap the events. Every time, I feel that bond that comes with being a part of a singular experience. It's a feeling that almost makes the last night's suffering worth it.
Almost.
