Racing is My Passion
Every Saturday night during the summer I get to expierience a rush and addiction which is driving my race car. I get a feeling in my stomach that I can’t breathe, nervous stomach that almost makes me feel sick. Sitting there with anticipation, strapped in with all my seat belts so tight I can’t move. I am holding the steering wheel so tight my knuckles are white, looking around and knowing the other drivers want to win as badly as I do, all of us just waiting for the officals to wave us onto the track. Out on the track, I am lined up in tenth place, the fifth row, on the outside and rolling slowly bumper to bumper and side by side. I feel the guy behind my nudging me with anxiousness, hitting my bumper wanting to unleash the car he pilots. The sound of the cars all revving their engines to clean out the cobwebs, I shake my head and breathe deap, all my senses are acute. The smell of racing gas in my nose, the vibration of horsepower ready at my feet and hands straining to leap like a horse out of the gate. My hands grip the wheel while the flagman holds the green flag close to him, waiting to let us go. The green flag waves out and I smash the gas pedal to the floor, all I hear is the roar of the exhaust. I drive into the corner side by side with fenders scraping, I can smell my brakes getting hot as I try to slow down to take the corner, the high pitch of rubber squealing and the smell of it burning in my nose. I feel I am driving the car well past what it was designed to do, taking it to its limits, the car is sliding a bit sideways as I hit the pedal to the floor again. Salty sweat is running down my forehead from the heat, it is burning my eyes, making it hard to see. My head is forced against the right side of my seat head rest from the G force of the car powering around the corner. Throttling down the back starightaway at full speed with my car so close to the wall I can feel the rivets shaking the entire car. I am...
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