I’m always intrigued when it’s said, “slow down to go faster.” In June, at a muggy, cloudy Thunderhill, I was trying very hard to go fast on my little piggy. I was braking later and later, trying to get off the brakes sooner and sooner, and getting on the gas harder, and the results were disappointing to say the least; I was edging into the 2:05s, barely a half second better than my previous best times.
I wore myself out on Friday. Friday night my quads, triceps and pecs were on fire. Saturday morning I was out first in every session, and was the last to come in. I knew if I just worked harder, I’d go faster. I’d better go fast, because I was so nervous about passing people. My friend Zoe had just raced in Portland a week ago, lost the front after making a pass, and got run over by another motorcycle. Miraculously, she was out racing this weekend too, albeit with some bumps and bruises. I was also still holding myself back thinking about poor Eric Arnold, a popular track day instructor who had fallen on the starting grid, been run over a few times and is now paralyzed from the waist down (however, there is hope for recovery, as you may read).
Saturday afternoon’s Formula AFemme race came around and I was hoping to have some good battles with Jenn and Zoe, and maybe even beat a 600 or two. Nah, I was hoping for more than that. I wanted to finish ahead of my SV girls and a 600 or two. I don’t remember much about the race aside from watching Jenn attempting to pass Shelina’s ZX6-R several times, and then towards the end, a newly en fuego Kristy Miller and her GSXR600 came storming through. I was second to last. Basically last, as Lisa’s comparatively underpowered Ninja 250 just can’t hang with the bigger bikes. I felt powerless to make any passes on anyone.
Miserable. Bleh. And I felt like crap, so tired, sore, and disappointed in myself.
I had zero energy, mental or physical, left over, and was feeling pretty adamant that I didn’t want to race on Sunday. I felt scared, I just wasn’t into it. So I was a good little pit crew member for James and did everything I could to support him in his racing. It was fun watching the races, and Jenn and Zoe did really well and I was happy for them. I wasn’t really bummed to not be out there until my energy came back, oh, on Tuesday or so. Then I was like, “dammit! Why didn’t I just race?!?!”
I decided to hire my boyfriend, James, to work with me at a track day a week later. Huddled up after a few sessions inside our air-conditioned, but otherwise piece-of-shit trailer, I sensed (I’m being politically correct here, I really believe that he flat out said it) that he was telling me that I wasn’t a natural at this and I was going to have to work very, very hard to be good at it. I was enraged. I don’t think many women can go from zero motorcycling experience to racing mid-pack in the super competitive AFM 650 Twins class the way that I have. I may not have been popped out of the womb being awesome like James, but I’m pretty good.
I probably have too much ego to ever be truly great at sports. But anyway, I cried and cried in my dirty, ugly trailer and then went out for another session without him to just ride around and shake it off. Against his instructions, I used a lap timer and pulled a 2:04, something I’d never done before. I felt better. James had apologized and consoled me, and also given me some really great tips for improving my riding and finding the best lines around the track, and by the end of the day I felt, um, not terrible.
A few weeks later I spent a week involved in a motorcycling related endeavor. I can’t say a whole lot about it, except that being there was not beneficial to my self-confidence, at least not at first. I came away from it feeling like a crappy racer, a crappy person and like I’d never be good at anything, ever. It wasn’t fun and I don’t really plan on going back.
During the four hour drive home from this thing, just a day before packing up and leaving for the next Thunderhill round, I was crying a lot until I started to get angry. How could I let this person make me feel this way? How could I let anyone control my feelings about my self worth like this? How could anyone underestimate my abilities and not recognize the value I can add? I was pissed. And when I get pissed, I start to rock. Being pissed fueled the first few years of my racing hobby, but I’m past that, so having a new fire in my belly was just what I needed.
I came home with a new determination and energy, not just to succeed in racing, but to make more out of my professional life as well. I had planned to not make the same mistake I did in June; I would only ride two out of the three days, Saturday and Sunday, but when this important workshop came up on Saturday, I decided I had to miss out on Formula AFemme, practice Friday and race on Sunday.
“This person” (NOT James, James is incredibly supportive of me, if only a little blunt sometimes) is a perfectionist, and I rode in Friday practice like he was behind me, critiquing my every move. I rode my lines as perfectly as I could ride them. I positioned my body like I was Ben Spies rocking World Superbike. I swallowed my fears and made passes when appropriate, and they stuck like krazy glue. Over time, the passing became less scary and I was pleased. I looked down at my tach on the approach to turn 7 and spied a 2:03.5 on my lap timer. I screamed like a little girl at a Justin Timberlake concert and then screamed again. I turned some more 2:03s. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
“Don’t get too excited, you still have to do that in the race,” said James. I knew he was right, but I didn’t care. I felt improvement and I felt faster without trying hard at it, just by striving for perfection in my lines and body positioning. I ended the Friday practice day feeling very good about life. I was sad that Jenn had destroyed her bike and was hoping she’d be healthy enough to race again next month, but on the personal front life was groovy.
Saturday I was gone. I was dying to know what happened in AFemme and put in calls to Zoe, Joy and Shelina. I was sad to not have been there.
I came out with another 2:03 in our only round of Sunday morning practice. Again, not hard. 650 Twins was race #1, and Formula IV was race #6. I was pleased that they were both before James’s race, Formula Pacific, which is always the 8th race of the day. All I wanted to do was just exactly what I’d been doing on Friday. A good start, perfect lines, perfect body positioning, and passing when appropriate. I really didn’t overtly care too much about the results or the lap times.
Off the start, I found myself up in a pack that I was sure would soon leave me, but I hung with them. Guys like Mike Adrian, Spencer Smith and Brian Bartlow. Guys I’ve always thought were much faster than me. I raced around with them and it didn’t feel like hard work at all. I made a pass on Mike Adrian, although he got me back before the end of the race (a red-mist fueled pass, he said, heh heh). At one point I saw a 2:01 on my lap timer and couldn’t believe it. I was high on life and finished the race, super pumped up and feeling victorious. Really, really couldn’t believe it.
Amazingly I did even better in the second race and finished ahead of some fast dudes. Even more amazingly, it seems like everyone went faster this round, so even though my laptimes might have put me in the top ten last month, this month it was only good enough for 17th place in both races. Ah well. I was still feeling so good about it all I didn’t care. As long as I keep doing what I am supposed to do, and take it one lap at a time, one corner at a time, the results should come.
What’s ironic is that I may not even be able to make the races next month. My tennis team might be in heavy duty playoffs in Folsom, and our team has a good shot at going to a national championship for adult recreational teams. The girls on my team are really into it and counting on me and I’d hate to let them down. I might be able to race AND play tennis depending on the timing of it all…that would be an adventure!
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