I think I'm going to be sick

First, my lungs tried to leap out of my chest. Then the bagel I ate for breakfast threatened to retrace its steps up my throat. Then I got dizzy, nearly fell over and stumbled off to a patch of shade.

All from standing 10 feet away from a small group of Sprint Cup Series cars blistering their way by at a buck-90.

Yeah, it's that fast. And utterly amazing that these guys are willing to put themselves in packs of 20 or 30 cars at a time under those conditions -- and not amazing at all that fans are here to soak up the complete sensory overload.

*****

More security stories from Daytona.

After The Godfather and I waited a good 20 minutes behind a bus pouring exhaust into my window -- maybe it was Courchesne's way of trying to off me, a signal that he's had enough of this marathon trip to the heart of stock-car country -- we finally got to the media parking lot behind the tower on the DIS fronstretch.

And as we pulled in, we were accosted by three teenagers in yellow "security" vests, one ornery one of whom was insistent on knowing whether we had media credentials.

We did. And he told his friends he somehow missed the "M" sticker on our windshield, the one that tells them that we are, indeed, allowed to park there.

"I don't know how I missed it," he said to his buddy as we zipped off to our spot.

I know. Maybe it was the 2-a-side football game you guys were playing -- the one we had to drive through -- that took your attention away from the job they are paying you to do.

The track should get its money back. Seriously.

*****

This place is big. Have I mentioned that at all this week?

Here's a little anecdote to put it all in perspective for you:

Those of you who know me know that I'm not opposed to a little physical activity. I make it a point at the race track to walk instead of shuttle, take stairs instead of elevators, drink water instead of soda. But after making it down 12 full flights of stairs and walking the entire length of the frontstretch, I finally had to stop short of my destination.

My little boy gave me very strict instructions when I pulled out of the snowstorm in Portland more than a week ago -- the red and blue of Jeff Gordon merchandise had best make its way back in my suitcase. So I headed out to souvenir row outside of turn 4 here, where the souvenir haulers are stacked 112 deep.

But I never made it. I'm guessing I walked at least a mile (one way) and never made it past the DeWalt tools display. Too crowded, too hot and, most importantly, too far.

I can't believe I uttered the words.

But there is good news -- Daytona 500 final practice is over, meaning that all that's left now is a Nationwide Series race this afternoon and the big dance tomorrow.