𝗛𝗶𝗴𝗵 𝗦𝗽𝗲𝗲𝗱 𝗦𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗩𝗼𝗹. 𝟭
🏎️ English Version 🏎️
Abigail Mathews had always felt in the blurry part of the picture, wondering if, in her work at the Haas F1 Team, anyone would ever really notice her.
But an email, one morning, ca...
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Maranello, Italy January 2022
🏎️
Have you ever dreamed of an event, so much in detail, that once you stood up, it seemed absurd to you that you still had to live it?
The nights before the events had always played tricks on me; I thought about one thing and reviewed twenty thousand different scenarios on how it could end.
This was one of the usual mornings when I would have to wake up hoping not to have to relive the embarrassment of the first day, and that everything would be exactly like in dreams.
But I woke up late, as if that weren't enough with a stiff neck for not having gotten used to the new bed yet.
Fortunately I had taken a shower the night before and I only had to get dressed, fix my reddish hair and wash my face too pale. I would have thought about breakfast later.
In the elevator I distracted myself by observing my reflection, sweater, windproof jacket and red pants, without forgetting the hat with the visor that hid my brown eyes.
I had dreamed of working at Ferrari for years, without ever thinking about what it would really mean to be part of it.
Italy in January was cold, with a completely different winter air from the English one, but it forced me to close my jacket anyway. I looked at the deserted street and tried to remember the little information I had received to get to work.
In the distance I saw a factory full of people, I walked more confidently, although as I got closer, I noticed that most of the people had the same clothes as me. I could have been mistaken for a normal fan.
I observed that work of architecture in front of my eyes, being amazed by the immensity and height of the building.
Red attracted as always, red had the weight of carrying the meaning of important emotions: love, danger, anger, fear, but above all strength. At that moment I was overwhelmed, partly because of the fans who called the names of the drivers, partly because of the grandeur of the building, but above all by the strength and intensity of the red Ferrari.
I approached the entrance, passing the boys blocked by some barriers and going towards what looked like a main door. A gentleman in a suit tried to stop me, but showing the access card, he let me go, apologizing a few seconds later.
Silence fell once he passed the door. I turned to look at the people and put the card I had used to cross the threshold back into my wallet.
