Thorns

06

February 28th
Bahrain Grand Prix

Lando Norris

Adjusting my AirPods one last time, I increased my pace and started my run.

House music filled my ears as I found myself jogging slightly faster than I should have been at the beginning of my run. Not that I ever had a specific time to meet for my runs, but my ability to preserve my energy was running thin.

Ever since my anxiety took off in a rocket and never came back down to Earth, I found myself out of bed around five. Partially due to the fact that I was never able to fall back asleep, and partially because this was the only way I was able to alleviate the thoughts. The words that were poking and prodding me every minute of every day.

I ran from them. As fast as I could. Until I physically could not keep going, I would run. Several bridges and trash cans around Monaco held my balance while I puked out whatever my last meal had been, even if it was a meal from two days before. There still weren't any clear signs if the vomit was due to my excessive, intense runs or from my anxiety preventing me from keeping food down anyway. I couldn't tell the difference.

And I couldn't stop.

The sun hadn't even begun rising yet, and I was starting my run around the Bahrain Circuit. It was just barely seven degrees, making the first few minutes of my run uncomfortable until I was able to work up a sweat and warm myself. Few employees were at the track, making my run almost entirely alone, which was nothing short of ideal. As much as cardio was important to be able to have the job I have, I never once enjoyed doing it. For years Jon had been on my ass about me and cardio. To randomly switch up and admit to him that I had been running miles and miles just because at early hours would cause suspicion.

Suspicion was the last thing I wanted in anyone. Not in Jon, not in Zak, not in McLaren, not in the world. It was me against Max this season, and I have never had a bigger spotlight. Perfection was all that mattered.

Anxiety started to do its magic, automatically causing my legs to pump faster. The thoughts chased me through the track. The straightaway into turn one was coming to an end and all I could think of was how I would most likely be side by side with Max at this point. Where will he go to try and overtake? Where will I be to play defense? How many points will he finish with? Will he be the world champion for a fourth year...?

Will I have a chance? Am I good enough?

Faster.

My breath, slowly becoming unsteady, was visible in front of me. The weather was no longer an issue as my sweat warming my skin under my black hoodie and joggers.

The press doesn't know.

How long was this track again? Five-and-a-half kilometers?

Why was I not good enough?

I came up just six points short of Max at the end of Abu Dhabi last year. Only to finish second to him.

If it weren't for that damned safety car.

Journalists don't know.

Dad wasn't proud of me. How could he be proud of his son after that? After the season had been prevailing, only to give up P1 five laps away from a world title.

Turn ten caused my pace to let up slightly as if I were in the cockpit. As if I was approaching this turn at over 100 kilometers per hour, braking just seconds before entering the dangerous curve. Adrenaline was spiking in my veins as the only desire I had right now was to be piloting the car around these curves, proving myself to everyone who had doubted me not just in the last year, but my whole life.