Takes Two to Tango!
I just about managed to squeeze in. Seated rather tight, my mind wandered to the three days that I went to a gym after paying for the full six-months package. I should’ve done the six-months, in hindsight. “I am one size too big for this thing. Maybe two,” I said to the mechanic struggling to clamp my seatbelt in. It felt like my shoulders would come off and hang from my hyoid bone.
It had been almost a decade since I got into a proper single-seater race car. And there I was, in a foreign land, ready to floor the pedal to see if I was still half as good as I used to be in my years of whatever little racing I’d done. No words can explain how tense I was. With no idea of what to expect, I listened carefully as Paul gave me instructions on how to get the car moving. “Don’t worry, you’re gonna be alright,” he said to me. I had just been forced to wear a Matador outfit and thrown into the arena to fight an annoyed bull. I’ll be alright – I keep repeating this statement, almost in sarcasm.
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