Fear

Sitting talking to a friend of mine tonight, it has been a very long afternoon and evening.

We race cars against each other and have done for a long time; we talked of what makes racing so special for those who get it.

I don’t think I’ve ever slept well the night before a race. No matter if it was a minor club road rally or a round of the European Rally championship, not being able to sleep was there every time.

The restlessness was down to one thing, fear. I’ve done close to 300 races as a competitor and it’s always been there.

Sport is made special in part because of that fear.

It’s not the fear of physically hurting ourselves if we mess up and send the car into the trees; both of us accept that as part of the sport. Same with playing rugby, everyone who runs out on a Sunday afternoon up accepts that sprains and dislocated shoulders come with the territory.

It’s the fear of being put to the test, and finding ourselves falling short of what we could do. Not exactly a fear of failure, it’s a lot more than that. It’s more the test itself.

I love racing, it’s the precision mixed with brute force. The rush is addictive and the people almost universally wonderful. The top three or four most satisfying and memorable events for me are not the championship clinchers or the wins, they are the days where I believe that car went about as fast as it could with my mediocre talent.

In the Maine Forest Rally in 2002 we came away as fastest two-wheel drive car and a huge class win. Same event the following year and we crashed out, but the race itself was far more memorable. In 03 that car went as fast as it could over one particular stage, we left nothing behind and were totally committed. As close to perfect as we could be, and that was more satisfying than winning.

This may not make total sense, but the fear that keeps me awake is more than straight failure, racing is good at forcing you to deal with failure. It’s more the fear of the process, of the test itself and being found wanting.

Every time I was getting ready for the start, pulling on the race suit and thinking about the day ahead I’d look for a reason to not start. I never actually took an excuse not to start, but it’s been there every time.

Occasionally it would go well and I’d get a glimpse of what greatness in a car looked like. There would be a corner or two that I’d go as fast as it was possible to go, occasionally it would be for more than a corner or two. In Maine it was for an entire 8-mile stage.

It’s a feeling of reaching that far beyond the ordinary, and that moment of personal satisfaction is made all the better for the fear of the test.