Maybe it's my experience with martial arts, but fear isn't a big thing with me. I know we're doing dangerous things and the potential for disaster is always there, but acting out of fear is one of the most dangerous things a racer can do.
I've been studying several different styles of martial arts for almost 13 years, but my favorite is Ed Parker's American Kenpo. I've been in this system since '97 and I've been thoroughly beaten up pursuing the art. I've broken more than 50 bones; both wrists (the left twice), my nose eight times, my collar bone six times, all my fingers and all my toes, and a lot of the small bones in my hands and feet that just hurt like hell and don't want to heal. I've torn every tendon off my shoulder, separated some ribs from my spinal cord, cracked my skull (it took 65 stitches to cram it back together) and about a third of my right kneecap is gone. I'm a mess. But after all that, I'm still pretty and I don't fear much.
Still, fear is something every rational person has to acknowledge. We're building a Celica right now that, with blessings from the horsepower gods, will go 200 mph in the quarter mile-a feat no front-drive car has ever done. So whom do I speak to? Whom do I ask for advice? Since no one has ever done it, no one really has any direct experience they can share with me. That's scary, but I need to plow through that level of fear if we're going to reach our goals as a team.
I've made peace with the risk, but I'm smart enough to know the risk is always there. Intelligent people know fear can be either constructive or destructive, depending on how you deal with it. Last year, I was at Palmdale with the Integra on a day I could've sworn that car wanted me dead. It was just being an evil, ill-handling bitch. But it wasn't being slow. On a 9.20 pass, one of the wheelie bar wheels came off and the Integra started pulling right toward the retaining wall.
But it was determination, not fear that went through my mind when that car tried to destroy itself and me. I knew that if I focused on anything except getting the car to a safe stop, there was a good chance I'd be fertilizing a cemetery lawn. I didn't even think about having to focus, I just did.And somehow, I managed to bring the car to stop and I'm here to write this column. Plus, the car ran a 9.25 at 159 mph on that pass. But if I'd let myself be scared, I'd be dead.
Fear works best when there's something you can do about it. You make the car a little stronger, a little more stable. You take the time to make sure everything is done right. You think before you say something that might be embarrassing. When there's nothing you can do about it, why bother being afraid?
Fear is just one more thing that can be distracting. At this year's NHRA event in Gainesville, it was my focus that got me the win.
I was driving Craig Paisley's Supra in that event and the NHRA was finally enforcing the "courtesy staging" rule (waiting until your competitor's first set of staging lights are lit before lighting your second set). Carlos Gonzalez and his Mazda RX-3 had been quicker than us all weekend-he qualified first with an 8.457 and we, um, qualified eighth out of eight. He was at least a half second quicker than us.
But Carlos made a mistake when staging against us in the first round of eliminations and lit both his staging lights immediately. So he was going to have to back out and re-stage. I knew this, so when he started backing out, I pulled in and lit my first set of bulbs. Now he had to stage pretty quickly, but he was a little fried and rushed. I was in charge now, had the staging rules memorized, and by the time we were fully staged, I was ready. Carlos, meanwhile, didn't have his car up on boost. I cut a wicked 0.532 light, and ran a 9.000 to beat the boostless Carlos, who ran a lame-for-him 10.777 on a 0.873 light.
I'm not Carlos, so I don't know what was going on in his head, but in my head, I was thinking quickly enough and with enough focus to recognize the opportunity when it came along. I was merciless.
I think I'm able to control all the other fears in my life because my one greatest fear is losing.