Starting the Biggest Race of My Life

For the past week or so, I have had to drive home knowing that I could open the mailbox and see a letter from Salem College sitting inside.  I've looked for the letter for months, even when I knew it was too early for it to be there.  For two weeks, I grabbed my bag and locked the car as if it were Pole Day at Indy, just to get to the mailbox.  But on Friday, I guess I just knew it was time.  I stopped the car on a dime, ripped the key out of the ignition, and left the door open.  When I opened the mailbox, the Salem College logo was staring me in the face.  I tore open the envelope--it's in pieces now--and a little card fell out.  I left it on the ground and dropped the envelope, struggling to reach the first sentence of the letter.

"It is my special privilege..."

I should have known at the word "privilege," but I wouldn't let myself believe it yet.

"It is my special privilege to inform you that the Salem College Committee on Admissions has accepted you as a member of the first year class for fall 2013."

Did it say what I thought it said?  My University of North Carolina Charlotte envelope had said "Congratulations!  You've been accepted!" in huge, green letters on the outside.  This sentence was vague by comparison.  I read it and reread it, but couldn't think of a way I would have misconstrued the wording.

So, deciding that I had indeed been accepted to Salem College, I proceeded to run laps around the street, screaming.  (No one called the police or even came outside to see if I was being kidnapped, so I hope I never actually need help.)

Salem is the college of my dreams.  It is a small women's college in Winston-Salem, North Carolina.  A year ago, I had no interest in any place that fit that description, but everything I thought I'd hate about it is what I love about it.  Really, all that's missing is a kart track.  But fear not!  Charlotte is only an hour away.  Virginia International Raceway, my second home, is an hour and a half up the road.  There are stock cars at Bowman Gray Stadium on Saturday nights.  And the owners of my home kart track are talking about opening another location, so I'm trying to convince them that Winston-Salem is the ideal spot.

There are myriad reasons that I will be saying yes to Salem College, but most of all, I believe I can do whatever I want there.  I have all sorts of crazy ideas that haven't  finished forming yet, but at Salem, no one would call them crazy.  It seems to be the type of place where you could talk to anyone, and they would say, "What can I do to help you with that?"  As an aspiring motorsports journalist, I need this outlook.  I need to believe I am capable of anything and everything.  Over the next four years, I will gain the education, experience, and attitude that will help me reach my dream of working in racing.  I'll need a lot more than that, but it's a great place to start.  I am more than ready to get going.         

Something We Can All Agree On

Fact:  nobody wants to talk about politics.  No matter who any of us supported, we all share at least a shadow of relief that the election is over.  I happened to be one who followed it closely and cared about it deeply.  I don't intend to say who I voted for, or start talking about the economy or immigration or any of those topics that have been repeated over and over for the last few months.  Now is the time to step back and remember that we're all brothers and sisters, and we all want the best for our country.

But as we are overjoyed to be through listening to people argue, as we have cast our votes and played our biggest role in deciding the fate of our nation, we cannot allow ourselves to forget about the issues.  Politicians promise to prioritize certain ones, but once they become elected, everything is a priority.  I cannot imagine how tough it must be to represent so many different types of people--regardless of party, they are supposed to speak for us all.  The only way for us to influence their priorities is to keep talking about the issues that matter to us.  

Many people have a particular issue they are especially concerned about, myself included.  I believe I am knowledgeable about my issue and have been able to distinguish fact and opinion as I have studied it.   But even without those facts, I know all I need to know about it because of my own experience. 

That's right--I'm a feminist.  

I'm not going to touch the women's issues debated in the election; my greatest concerns are nonpartisan anyway.  My greatest concerns are the sexual objectification of women by the media.  That our default setting is "he."  That we are taught to value our appearance above all.  Do you doubt me?  Take a stroll down the boys' toy aisle, and then the girls'.  Note the companies that push their products using scantily clad and/or physically perfect women.  Definitely watch the documentary Miss Representation and visit the website.  

It has been difficult to let go of my preoccupation with my looks, and I still have a long way to go.  Every day, I remind myself:  insecurity is not natural, or necessary.  The things I have worked to achieve are worth much more than what I was born with.  And it seems to me that the best way for young women to really believe those things about themselves is to be involved in sports.  There are many other ways to feel empowered, but sports are different.  To be an athlete is to love your body for what it can do and not for what it looks like.  I love seeing women throughout the sports world.  There are many strong, skilled female athletes for girls to look up to.  I just wish I saw more women in racing.  

The number of women in our sport is significantly greater than it was only a few years ago, and it will only continue to grow.  But I still want more.  I want to hear "Ladies and gentleman," at every start, at every track, in every country.  I know there are millions of female spectators, and I want the number of female drivers to reflect that.  I want young girls to stop dreaming about making history as a woman, and instead dream about making history as a driver.  

We've come a long way, and although women are still greatly outnumbered, we're used to seeing female drivers.  But racing continues to be a man's world.  The rule is still that men are drivers, crew chiefs, or engineers, and women are wives or grid girls.  I know there are women who do important work.  I don't know how numerous they are, but from my perspective, they seem like the exceptions that prove the rule.  Sometimes, the grid girls are all I see.  There are the female spectators, like me, and almost anyone associated with the event is either a man or paid to look pretty for the men.  I feel like I'm being ignored.  

That's not what I want any young driver to see, female or male.  I want them to see Sarah Fisher, the first female team owner to win an IndyCar race.  I want them to see Liz Halliday, a successful driver, commentator, and equestrian.  I myself have received driving instruction from several intelligent, talented women.  Girls need to see these incredible women accomplishing these things, and for many, that's the only way they would think they could do it themselves.  

 A few years ago, I read a letter in Racer Magazine that claimed that beautiful women were part of racing.  These women are beautiful, but I doubt I'm using that word in the same way that fellow was.  Now, things have changed.  We let women drive at night, and we let them drive race cars, too, no matter what they look like.  Racing is for everyone.  If there are men driving, there better be women.  If there are grid girls, then there ought to be grid boys.  This is the 21st century, and a girl who loves racing should never feel like she has to break down barriers to get there.      

It's time to crush sexism!  All you amazing female drivers, hurry up and make it to the top!  We've shown the world what we can do, but we need you to make sure they cold know it.           

When Life Gives You Le Mans

Yesterday, I finally turned eighteen, and since that's kind of a big deal, I actually had a party.  I haven't really had one since I was eleven, but that was a paragon of parties.  How about my cake?  My parents made it. It was a masterpiece.  I am so upset that the picture is blurry.

This party was French-inspired.  I have been obsessed with all things French since I started learning to speak the language in seventh grade, and in July of this year, I actually got to go there.  Don't worry, I took plenty of pictures.  Notre Dame!  The Eiffel Tower!  The palace at Versailles!  The thing is, though, I didn't get all the pictures I needed.  I know you're supposed to relax with the camera and try to enjoy every bit of it in the moment.  But I scrambled to get a shot of these things, and sadly fell short every time.

1. Richard the Lionheart.  He's buried in a cathedral in Rouen.  It was a moment I wanted to spend thinking about Dan, but like so many crumbling, centuries-old monuments, that part of the cathedral was closed for restoration.  Thinking of him then made me particularly sad; I wasn't expecting to be confronted with a reminder of him.  As we all know, he is gone, but far from forgotten.  In fact, we remember him often, at the most unexpected times.  
2. Le Mans.  Every time I turned around, there was a sign bearing the direction to Le Mans.  It seemed that for the entire trip, we danced right around it without actually going there.  A picture of just the sign would have been worth having.  One day, I will go to the 24 Heures du Mans.  It's on my bucket list.  I can hardly miss out on an event that combines two of my favorite things.  Speaking French above the roar of a legendary race?  C'est parfait!
3. c. 1960 Mustang.  When I saw it, I forgot I was in France.  We could have been on some endless highway in middle America.  (Then we passed a Peugeot dealership.)  I wasn't completely shocked to see it, but something about it in that moment was incredibly beautiful.  As much as I was loving my time in France, it struck a patriotic nerve.  
4. A kart track.  There I was, riding through the postcard-worthy Loire Valley, imagining Joan of Arc galloping through the hills on horseback.  Then a little kart track appeared.  I wasn't sure if it was even a kart track at first, but I saw red and yellow striped curbs, and signs, a separate one for each letter, spelling out, "KARTING."  (It's the same word in French and English.  I remember writing sentences  in French class:  "Qu'est-ce que tu aimes faire?"  "J'aime faire du karting.")  It was a perspective I hadn't seen before.  Obviously, there's plenty of racing in Europe.  But since I've never seen it with my own eyes, I still picture castles and villages when I think of that continent.  Well, there are definitely castles and villages, but nestled in between are race tracks.  So this is where it happens.  This is where it fits.
5. 8, Place de la Concorde, Paris.  This is the address of the Federation Internationale de l'Automobile.  I laid eyes on that building without knowing what it was.  I was busy being amazed that Marie Antoinette was beheaded right over there.  But on the other end the Place de la Concorde was the FIA.  I only knew that later.  It turns out that colorful histories and modern motorsports fit quite well together.  And why shouldn't they?  The first-ever motor race took place in France. 

The good news is that I will hopefully be studying abroad in France soon.  I'll find my way to Le Mans.  I'll do some French karting.  I will get the pictures I'm lacking.

I Should Be Driving a Shelby Mustang

This is my car.  I have mixed feelings about it.

I am not the type to name my car or assign it a gender.  (I almost named it Rolfe, but when I realized I didn't want it to share a name with Liesl's Nazi boyfriend in The Sound of Music, I decided to leave it alone.)

It is a 2001 5-speed Jetta.  Don't think for a minute that I'm not thankful I have it, but it's got its pros and cons.  I'm just not sure if the pros outweigh all those cons.  That said, my assessment of the situation is not likely to have any influence on whether I drive this car.  

• PRO:  It's zippy.  When I drive my parents' Impala, it feels like I'm at the helm of some massive ocean liner.  But I can put the Jetta exactly where I want it to go.  That makes my daily drive to school entertaining.  The road that runs next to campus doesn't get a lot of traffic, and the turns are tight enough to have a little fun within the speed limit.  You start by turning right off the busy road, and then it's immediately ninety degrees back to the left.  I use every bit of pavement.  From there, it's a short, quick straight, and then another ninety-degree right turn.  There's a lot of extra pavement on the inside and I always hit my apex.  I've driven that road in several different cars, but in the Jetta, I'm giggling.

• CON:  It will not win a drag race.  My brother drove this car before I did, and I'm not sure what he was thinking when he attempted this.  I don't know the whole story, but he and his friends went to a drag strip in the next county over.  (It's probably not nearly as sketchy as I'm imagining, but there is something foreboding about "the next county over.")  He paid a few dollars to get a number and then lined up to race.  I don't know how badly he lost, but it's definitely not a story he likes to tell often. 

• PRO:  It's a manual.  I'm a snob about that.  I was scared to learn, because the only thing you ever hear (outside the racing circle) is that they're impossible to drive.  Turns out, it's not so bad.  Imagine that!  I didn't even stall the first time I tried it--I was just a little closer to the mailbox than I was comfortable with.  Pretty soon, it was second nature.  Now, it's all I want to drive.  It adds another layer to my daily commute.  Instead of going from point A to point B, I am driving the car.  I am operating the machine.  Plus, learning to drive a manual gave me my philosophy (at least for most parts of life).  Say you're at a stop sign, trying to turn left onto a busy road.  This is what I do every day.  If I stall as I'm pulling out, I could be hit.  So how do I keep from stalling?  I just don't stall.  I just don't.  I keep the car running because that's what has to happen.  Got a problem?  Solve it.  Need to accomplish something?  Do it.  I love how simple things can be.

• CON:  I can no longer drive an automatic.  Well, that's not exactly true.  I can switch back and forth easily now, but at first, I'd stomp around for the clutch until I remembered where I was.  But it is true that I don't want to drive an automatic.  I take a lot of pride in driving a manual.  Why would I want to take a step back down?  (I told you, I'm a total snob.)    

• PRO:  My brother and I both learned to drive a manual in it.  It's got sentimental value!  Kind of!

• CON:  My brother and I both learned to drive a manual in it.  I don't think it can handle a third student.  Frankly, I was probably one too many.

• PRO:  It's tiny.  I can park in compact spots.  I don't have to be particularly nervous in heavy traffic.  There is always space for me.  I also get a lot of feedback.  I can feel everything--tiny dips in the road, wind gusts on the highway.  My grandma's always wanted a Cadillac; she says it's the smoothest ride you can get. But I like the stream of information I get in the Jetta.  The more I know about my surroundings, the safer I feel.  

• CON:  The trunk cannot be opened.  On a really dumb day, I walked off without my keys.  I came back for them, but they were gone.  I suppose someone was charmed by my shiny F1 key chain.  I got new keys, but they don't open the trunk.  Bad news.  The CD player is in the trunk.  

• PRO:  It's fuel efficient.  It would be fairly efficient as an automatic, but it is even more so because it's a manual.  I can save fuel with my driving techniques.  I coast in neutral whenever possible.  It also helps that I don't speed--I respect the law and the safety of the people around me.  (Sorry, getting a little preachy.)  It still feels like I'm at the pump all the time, though.  That's just another in a long list of reasons to invest in green technology.  

• CON:  The left speakers are blown.  But I've adjusted as though I were deaf in one ear.  

My assessment?  It's a car, it has character, and I'm lucky to have it.  That doesn't mean I'm not looking forward to when I get to choose the car I drive.  

  

A Salute to Dan Wheldon

This last year has not been the same without Dan Wheldon.  It's almost hard to believe that on Tuesday, it will have been that long, but we haven't stopped missing his presence.  Needless to say, we never will.  There will never be another Lionheart. 

Last year was my junior year of high school, and I spent a great deal of it writing papers.  We got prompt after prompt, and we were supposed to make a point about it, support it, disprove it.  Every time, I hoped to have some sort of emotional stake in the issue, and more often than not, I was disappointed.

Then one day, I was handed a prompt about boxing.  Some people were arguing that boxing was too dangerous and should be outlawed.  They claimed that boxing could cause serious injuries and was not worth the risk.  It was left to me to decide if that risk was serious enough to cut boxing out of the sports world.

My first thought?  I didn't care about boxing.  They could outlaw it or not, and I wouldn't know the difference.  As usual, I'd have to come up with some good-enough points and tepidly argue them.

Then, I thought of Dan. 

After the heartbreaking events of October 16th, 2011, none of us knew what to think.  I questioned why we race, when we know these things can and do happen.  At first, the only thing I could think to do was quit racing.  It seemed right to just shut it out. 

But it wasn't right, because we've always known the risk.  Every driver does.  And they toss it to the side, because following their passion is more important.  This sport is so much more than the sum of its parts, and the greatest way to honor Dan Wheldon is to ensure that it thrives.

So, to all the boxers out there--if this is your passion, I will never take it away from you.  We do what we love because life is meant to be lived.  I have a feeling Dan Wheldon knew that better than anybody.

October 16th was a dark, surreal day.  I kept thinking we could go back and keep it from happening.  It continues to amaze me that someone I didn't know personally could have had such an impact on my life.  He had a unique ability to make you feel like a friend in the seconds it took to get his autograph or shake his hand.  And he was that guy you wanted to hate, because he seemed to win all the time, but you couldn't help liking him.  He was just too darn likable.  The finish of the 2011 Indianapolis 500 was perhaps my favorite moment--Dan was the only person I would have wanted to suddenly appear and take the checkered.

I like to remember him best at the 2005 Indy 500, which was the first race I ever went to.  My picture of that day remains crystal clear, and since he won, he is enduringly part of it.  He makes up many of my first memories of auto racing.  And the beautiful thing is that we all have those memories, and through them, he'll live forever.          

R.I.P. Lionheart.  Every time we drive, we drive for you. 

Don't Go Straight in the Chicane

In racing, it's really important that you use the steering wheel, throttle and brake to navigate the course without making contact with the wall.  I know, did it really need to be said?  But based on this video, someone needed to tell me.

This is from that league I ran when I was eleven.  It's a little blurry, but you can see me pass two karts, and then get passed back by one.  You can also hear how nervous my mom is, and a few seconds later, you see that she'd had reason to be.  At the far end of the course, there's a thud, and one of the karts is no longer moving.  That kart would be me.  I went straight in the chicane.

I do not know why this happened.  I have since tried to recreate the incident, and no matter how inexperienced I may have been at the time, I cannot fathom how I would have failed to prevent it.  At least it was only during practice.  Maybe I was just trying to get all the mistakes out of my system by making one huge stupid one.  

Go ahead and laugh at me, because I'm laughing, too.  But this is a PSA, so remember it:  please, don't go straight in the chicane.     

(Almost) Better Than the Real Thing

Indoor karting?  It's a beautiful thing.  Okay, yes, it's indoor karting.  It's arrive-and-drive.  But what would I do without it?  It allows me to do some real-enough driving while having the time and money for other interests, like dance.  Not only that, but it's an ideal starting point for people who are thinking about getting into racing--you can find out if you really like it and if you're any good before making a commitment.  It's also a place to lay a foundation of skills, as well as to keep them sharp once you get going.

I have spent an overwhelming number of hours at my track since it opened six or seven years ago.  When I was eleven, I drove in a house youth league.  It didn't go as well as I'd hoped.  I finished fourth in points.  I didn't win a single race.  I thought I'd gotten really good, so it was a bit of a hit to my ego.

But in time, I got better.  We spent a lot more time at the track.  My dad organized an endurance race  for public safety agencies in the Raleigh, NC area in the name of team building.  And when the house youth league didn't come back for a second season, he partnered with a coworker, and the Raleigh Area Public Safety Youth League was born.  By that time, I had had two more years to improve, and I could feel it right away.  I ended up winning the championship with three wins.

Sadly, I aged out of the league when I turned fifteen.  I now drive the pace kart.  It's a neat gig, but I'm jealous of the drivers.  There are a lot of them, and they're good.  The races are intense.  Some of these kids have been in our league for a few years, and I've seen them fix their mistakes, become more aggressive, and get better results, like I was able to do.  I guess I always knew you really could learn something indoors, and every time I watch them drive, that belief is validated.

One day, maybe I will do something bigger--club racing, auto cross, Skip Barber--but at least for right now, a little indoor karting goes a long way.      

How the Track is Like the Stage

It's hard to believe, but I had been Irish dancing for five years before I became interested in racing.  You'd think motorsports and dance would be a strange combination--in the seventh grade, I wrote an essay about my two interests and my teacher commented that they seemed to be on opposite ends of the spectrum.  On the surface, they are.  But on Saturday, I danced in a competition and gave it some thought.  Just before I went onstage, my brother told me to watch out for the seams, a la Will Power.  That's when I realized that these two very different sports have a lot in common.

For one thing, people have debated whether either of them should be considered sports at all, and the proper response to those people is the same.  Yes, Irish dancers look like pageant girls.  Yes, people drive cars all the time.  But why don't you get onstage and try to stay upright.  See if you can climb in the car and  keep up.      

Another similarity is that when I'm dancing, I am always worried about grip.  I put duct tape on the bottom of  my shoes to help me grab the floor.  Sometimes, I talk to whoever just got offstage:  "How slippery is the floor?  Do I need tape?"  It's an important question, because even though tape can keep you from slipping, it can muffle the sounds.  It reminds me of the alternate tires in Indy Car--you have to decide when grip or durability is more important.

Alain Prost once spoke some words to live by:  "When I look fast, I'm not smooth and I am going slowly.  And when I look slow, I am smooth and going fast."  Just the same, a dancer who appears to be moving quickly is struggling to keep up with the music, but a a dancer who seems to be at a comfortable pace is right on time.     

After the competition, we came home and watched the end of the Georgia Tech-Miami game.  It was a great day for Miami, but I hated seeing those shots of the Georgia Tech players.  In so many sports, there are winners and losers.  But in both Irish dancing and auto racing, you don't necessarily have to lose.  Little improvements can make a difference.  You can see your growth and take pride in your consistency.  That makes them the most satisfying sports to be part of.  

An Electrifying End

Watching the Indy Car season finale at Fontana last night was like a dream.  It probably had a lot to do with my sleep deprivation--over here on the east coast, it was around midnight before we saw the checkered flag.  But how about that finish?  It was nothing less than dramatic.  Fontana was the kind of season finale Randy Bernard probably fantasizes about.

Yes, when Will Power spun well before the halfway point, things were not looking good.  Who wants the championship to be decided so soon?  But he went back out.  In a car held together with duct tape.  Duct tape is good for a lot of things, but I don't know if I trust it that much.  That was proof that Will Power is a real race car driver.     

For a good bit of the race, Ryan Hunter-Reay seemed to be stuck exactly one position behind the one he needed to win the championship.  Oh, the irony!  But I think he was just being smart--this was a five hundred mile race, and there was no reason to push it until the end.  

Oh gosh, five hundred miles of stress.  Don't races feel like work?  (In a good way, of course.)

There were layers of drama, really.  You think it's all decided, since RHR is running fine in fifth, but then here's Tony Kanaan, who's looking for the oval championship.  Tony Kanaan is the guy who just won't give up.  My heart broke when he hit the wall. 

So here he is, Ryan Hunter-Reay, the champion.  I'm happy for him.  And I'm devastated for Will Power.  I wanted to cry when Will crashed.  But I would have cried if anything had happened to Ryan.  In the end, they're both race car drivers, and they both wanted the same thing.  All I wanted was to see a good show, and I did. 

The highlight of the night?  Will Power congratulating Ryan Hunter-Reay.  If there's one thing I adore, it's good sportsmanship.  The only problem with the entire affair was that it ended the Indy Car season.  I miss my race cars already, and believe me, I am counting the hours until they go racing again.      

    

When Speed Gets in the Blood

Racing is something that consumes you.  The first time I saw a race car flash past me, I was so happy, I laughed.  Toward the end of the race, I was so happy, I cried.  That was the unforgettable 2005 Indianapolis 500.  I was ten years old. 

That was the end of life as I knew it.  I’ve always loved reading, writing, theatre, and dance.  But that race awakened in me some gritty, ineffable thirst for speed.  Suddenly, this desire influenced nearly everything I did.  Even though it hasn’t been long since then in the grand scheme of things, the effect that race has had on my life is remarkable.  My pursuit of motorsports has led me to new people and brilliant experiences.

 

Racing is my passion and writing is my drug, so it’s natural for me to combine the two.  I’m writing to turn this passion into real words.  I’m writing to communicate with people who feel what I feel.  I’m writing to show how racing permeates every part of life, from the mundane to the extraordinary.  This is a place for people who understand that this sport is something deeper than a math problem—it’s an art form.

 “When speed gets in the blood, one must drive to live."            
--Rudolf Caracciola