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.