Full Throttle

Circuit de Barcelona Catalunya

"Fuck, sorry guys. That's not the result that we wanted."
I'd come P14 in Qualis, not making Q3 and disappointing my team. I'd not driven well at.
"It's okay," Jonathon's voice crackled over the radio, "we'll make a few tweaks. Tomorrow is race day, not today. You'll be alright."
I drove a slow lap around the circuit, trying to take in everything I could and making mental notes. I entered the pits, driving towards my team and stopping the car. I was pulled back into the garage and I got out of the car, taking my helmet, balaclava, and HANS off and wiping away the sweaty strands of hair from my face. Better luck next time, Jessie. We'll get 'em tomorrow," Franz said, trying to console me.
"Sorry that I've not lived up to your expectations this Qualifying session."
"It's your first weekend back, don't be so hard on yourself. You've coped well so far with the media, and practices yesterday and today weren't so bad. I didn't hold any expectations for you because I thought that you'd do that yourself anyway, and I was right. Now, go get some food, get something to drink, and go to debrief. The engineers want to improve the car."
I nodded and went to retrieve the pre-prepared food from the mini-fridge in my room, grabbing a smoothie to join the water, and headed up to the meeting room. I entered, putting my food and drink at the side of the room to not get them on the expensive tech, took a seat and put the headphones on over my ears. I watched the replays of my driving as the engineers started talking.
"So, Jessie. How was the car today out on track?"
"Um, a few vibrations in the wheel. There was some major understeer going into Turn 10 and 14. The front end was a little light but it was manageable."
The engineer, Matt, nodded and conferred with the others. We talked for another hour or so, sorting out some little details and I examined my racing line on the screens, making notes on where to improve my braking and noting down markers for acceleration and down-shifts. It was only after the debrief that I was able to eat the small amount of food that I'd bought up with me, and drink the mango and passionfruit smoothie. I met Nick downstairs and we talked quickly about the warm-up plan for tomorrow, although I'm certain that he knew that I was all too familiar with all of the exercises pre-race. I turned on my music through my headphones, playing 'Blueberry Faygo' by Lil Mosey, and started walking out of the Paddock. I didn't see anyone that I didn't mind talking to, and I ignored the media and the press, just wanting to get back to my hotel to have a shower, call my dad, and relax.  

I came out of the bathroom with one towel wrapped around my body and one wrapped around my hair, steam curled from behind me from the heat of the shower. Taking my phone off charge and unlocking it, I pressed my dad's contact and turned on the speaker as the dial tone rang out.
"Hey, Jessie! How is it? Qualifying didn't look bad."
"Dad, stop trying to make me feel better, you and I both know that it was far from my best. Media day was terrible, as I think you saw as well, and I almost lost control of the car yesterday in FP2."
"Really? You couldn't tell," my dad said, sounding confused.
"Well yeah, I don't think that the cameras would be on me the whole time. I'm just so, so tired all of the time, and I don't know how much I can cope with the media asking me the same questions over, and over again. One of them asked about Dylan again the other day. It makes me feel sick."
"You'll make it through, Jessie, love. I know you will, and your old dad is always right. Look, I've got to go now because my dinner is starting to burn, but I love you and we'll be watching you get points in the race tomorrow."
"Bye, dad."
I sighed as I hung up the phone and fell back onto my bed. I could feel myself sinking again and, as usual, I didn't know how to stop it. Maybe this is all just too much. I didn't feel like eating. Instead, I worked out on some basic strength building exercises until my arms felt like jelly and I could barely stand up without my legs shaking, and then I worked some more. I collapsed on the floor of my hotel room, my chest heaving. If only I hadn't talked to that reporter at the bar, then maybe I would still be what I expect myself to be. I let out my regrets in tears that night, and went to sleep hoping that the next day would be better.