There was a time when he drove cars that to me seemed way more dangerous than the ones he drives now... and there was a time when the fatal accidents seemed more frequent.
I've been asked as often as my husband has been asked what it's like to drive in the 500, what I feel when he races. What I feel?? Let's see... a medley of feelings that would deserve a whole new name as a single feeling which I cannot explain... I usually try to hold up until he gives me that last kiss "goodbye/I love you" before he puts on his helmet. Then I know he does not see me anymore, so I let it go, but I don't get to exhale.
During the scarier times I used to have difficulty breathing, which normally led to me crying on my way back to the pit area. I was painfully aware that others thought I was just too much, but it was too important to me and I became the only one living in my own little world. The world where until I met him, I was alone with my dog. It was my dog and I with no one to really call my own or be anyone's claim. My mom had her husband, all my siblings with their own families and I just floated around from one guy's arms into another, seemingly always looking away from the arms that held me.
So once this very precious soul got inside a machine that would go faster than my eyes could follow it, I was ridden with anxiety. I'm not a drama queen, or maybe I am, but I had just been a witness to too many accidents and the horrible feeling that comes with that territory. I never assumed the worst, but any kind of injury is always a problem. Even for those who didn't have fatal accidents, many times what was left in the aftermath was a faint reminder of the driver that used to be... and of course, as my glass-half-empty outlook dominated, I always figured something really bad would happen and the love of my life would be sucked into this, our family curse I once believed in.
Outside of worrying about your own man, there is also the worry about the others, your friends' husbands or boyfriends... It was a crapshoot, a roulette wheel spin every race weekend that would decide who would be the chosen one to lose, crash, get hurt, get seriously hurt, lose a ride, or lose a lot more.
I never understood the whole racing concept. I don't think I ever will, because everytime I heard the awful news of a fatal accident, all I could do was cry with utmost anger while wondering WHY ON EARTH these men choose racing as a career. However my thoughts, I've already told my husband many times that I will always support and encourage him in what he likes to do and what makes him happy.
I'm just glad he's already 48 years old... and he can't race forever...! :-)
2 comments:
I haven't been by in a while, lost in time I guess. I've been to the Indy 500 one time in my life, saw a bad wreck and that did it for me. I didn't understand the thrill. I'd have a real hard time if I had a husband that raced. My husband used to race dirt bikes but, age knocked him out of that game before I met him. Now he rides for pure enjoyment. Whew.
Monica
http://journals.aol.com/sonensmilinmon/SmilinMonsAdventures/
Exactly Monica... I don't see the "why" of racing, and no matter how many people try to tell me their points, my brain just won't concede. Same thing with Boxing. I can't get excited about a sport where the goal is to purposely hurt somebody else... But I will always be supportive should someone I care about follow that path. I just hope it's not my kids!!!! :-)
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