Turbulence [𝗠.𝗩.]

Bahrain, Race Day

"It's finally here, the first race of this year's F1 calendar!"

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BAHRAIN
1ST RACE OF THE SEASON
MARCH

Race day arrives far too quickly. As I get to the paddock, Mick calls out to me, running over so that we can walk in together. It's a good idea; as we enter, the media is abuzz with the sight of us two, wearing plain black jeans and matching jackets emblazoned with our team name, logo, and our team's various sponsors. The dark clothing is a bit much considering that the heat of Bahrain is trying to roast us alive, but we look good. We look like professionals, like we belong here.

There are some fans who have paid for access to the area, and Mick is more than happy to sign shirts and caps. I stand by him awkwardly until I spot a handful of them trying to get my attention. One of them is a teenager who wants me to sign a hat so he can give it to his sister when he gets home. I tell him to use his phone to record me saying a quick positive message for her too, just to make it extra special for the girl. When we're pulled away from the fans, my warmth and joy are bombed by the anxiety of the upcoming race.

The meetings start with a quick rundown of what we're to say before the race, and what rumours are going around the paddock. Aston Martin is still having trouble with Alonso's car, but they're refusing to admit to it, according to someone from McLaren. That's good for us, considering he's starting behind me. I have to get past Oscar Piastri and Alexander Albon if we want to get back onto our plan of a cooperative first race out, but they're apparently in fine form. Alpine are still complaining about the inclusion of us as an eleventh team, so we've been warned to watch what we say if their Team Principal is in earshot. The drivers - Pierre Gasly and Esteban Ocon - are fine. In fact, I've met Pierre before, and other than being a bit of a drama queen at times, he's a pretty nice guy. Still, I'll watch what I say around anyone in Alpine gear. Better safe than sorry.

I have some time to warm up before the race. I work on my neck and reflexes, with the help of Claire, my personal trainer. Whilst we do some quick reflex exercises, she asks me about how I'm doing, and where my head is at, and I'm honest in my responses. It's terrifying, now that I'm here, but all I want to do is focus on the race. I want to get at least a point in my first outing because it'd be one hell of a thing to do. I also let her know that I've been letting Olivia, our social media person, handle my accounts since Thursday because I shouldn't expose myself to the expected vitriol that will be thrown my way no matter how I perform this weekend. She raises a brow at it, but I assure her that Olivia is only planning to post when qualifying and the race are over. Just some generic posts, nothing heavy that will detract from her main role for the team.

Claire is one of the few people I can be entirely honest with. She's here to make sure I'm in good health, and she takes her job seriously. She's made a serious effort to help me open up a bit more about my mental health, which is a hard thing to do, but I appreciate it, especially because I'm scared of the inevitable bad crash. I'll have one, it's just a matter of time. Every driver crashes. My last one was a hell of a crash. I'm not thrilled about the idea of it happening again. Claire's been great at helping me acknowledge and come to terms with the fact that I'm highly unlikely to have some sort of worse crash, I'd have to be really unfortunate for it to happen. It's given her a way to bond with me, which has improved my ability to feel like I belong.

But what will really seal the feeling of belonging, is scoring some damn points.

As I enter the garage, noise assaults my ears through the earplugs. Final checks are being carried out, the tyres are in their heated blankets, waiting to be fitted to the car. With my hair up in a flattened bun, I pull my white balaclava on, followed by my helmet. There's no room for nervous Jessica anymore. She has to step aside yet again.