There are no tears in racing.. except when there are tears in racing.

My track dog. :)

A bit of a racing primer: a race day usually consists of a few rounds of practice, followed by two qualifying heats, then a feature race.

Your starting position in the first qualifier is based on your draw number.  This is literally a number you draw out of a bin.  The results of the first qualifier determine your position for the second qualifier, and your second qualifier results determine your start position for the feature (final) race.

I went into my first race of the season in a deep, deep funk and both mentally and physically exhausted.  I was really just hoping to make it through the day. My first two practice heats were ok, but I was feeling physically exhausted.  After the practices, I remember telling myself, "you're terrible at this and this is so expensive.  Maybe you should throw in the towel after this event."  Plus, my class was being combined with a Masters class, so I was extra concerned about a crowded field and the potential for numerous wrecks.  

By the time the driver's meeting came around, I was also in serious pain.  My stomach was filled with battery acid, and I could barely stay awake.  After the meeting, I limped toward the trailer, but not before I flagged someone down for some Tums.  Anyone with a hat that says "Race Mom" in rhinestone automatically earns my trust.  While she didn't have any in her car, she said she'd check her first aid kit and bring it to me.  I made it back to the trailer and lay down on the grimy floor, waiting for death by stomach ailment.  Not long after, I heard a girl's voice call out to me (like a Tums bearing angel!), "we found some Tums, are you ok?"  I thanked her profusely and chomped a few Tums.  Lying on the floor of the trailer, with Singer by my side, I tried to relax (and prayed for relief).  

The oddest thing happened.  Between the blue skies, the warm breeze, the grimy floor, Singer, and the roar of cars down the drag strip, I began to feel a peace I had not felt in a long time.  Eventually, the roar of the dragsters lulled me to sleep.  When I awoke, I felt as if a tremendous weight had been lifted off of my chest.  Still tired, but oddly less burdened, I made my way to the pits for the first qualifier.  I had the first start position, but gridded up at the back of the pack, terrifically unsure of myself.  But another odd thing happened: I began driving without (ok, less) fear.  I took turns more aggressively, I didn't get passed, and I ended up making a few nice passes myself.

Ralphie -- throttle cable intact

Heartened, I took a nap before the second qualifier.  Same thing: blue skies, warm breeze, Singer by my side, and the dulcet tones of serious horsepower.  I fell asleep, and awoke a few minutes before my race, feeling just a little bit lighter still.  During my second qualifier, I stuck with the pack, avoided two spin-out/ pile ups, and again, made some good passes.  It was a euphoric feeling to finally be making some headway in a sport I've struggled at for so long.

By the time the feature race rolled around, I was really excited.  I felt confident in my lines, and I knew that I was driving harder, braking later, and generally doing all of the things i wasn't doing before-- now!  Also, I had managed to score P3 for the feature.  Not only had I not been horrendously lapped during the qualifiers, I was legitimately beating people!  So, P3.  Clean start, made a pass, and was slowing reeling in the two guys ahead of me.  I could feel myself getting closer with each lap.  Until, coming into the start / finish line, I had no more go.  It was like the motor died, except I could still hear it.  As I was rolling poor Ralphie off the track, he sprang back to life... and then death again.  Turns out, the throttle cable snapped.

I was devastated.  I mean, for the first time ever, I wasn't sucking!  As we walked back to the trailer, I said, "I think I'm going to cry." I was so upset: here I was, doing everything I could do, finally doing everything right, only to have something unforeseen happen.  I kept thinking, "I was trying so hard and I still didn't win!" But between the naps, the blue skies, and the smell of two-stroke, I realized, "you know what, I had an awesome day today.  I did the best I've ever done, and I made serious headway.  And even though I had this setback, I've learned something.  Next time, I can do even better."  Nuts, huh?

In addition to this After School Special racing epiphany, I realized that this was the first time in two months that I'd done any real physical activity.  Some people need peace and quiet.  Some people need a glass of wine after work.  I... I need movement to maintain balance.  And Singer.  And, apparently,  a quarter mile lullaby.