Breaking the Grid

family

It's been one week of physio, and I'm finally starting to feel a bit better. The pain in my leg has eased up, making everyday things feel a little less daunting. Sarah, my physiotherapist, told me that in about two weeks, I should be able to start walking without crutches—though there might be a bit of a limp. Hearing that was a relief, and I can already picture myself taking those first steps. It's a long way from racing, but it's progress.

Yesterday, Kyra and Leah had an away game in Manchester, so I had the place to myself. Honestly, it was nice. I love them, but having a bit of peace to recharge felt good. No noise, no constant energy—it was just what I needed to reset.

And it's been a busy week otherwise. Alicia lined up a stream of meetings for me, mostly with sponsors and some brand-related projects. It's the part of the job that feels less like racing and more like... business. But there was one thing I had recently completed that I was excited about: a photoshoot for next month's issue of Vogue. I'm supposed to be the face of the magazine, which is surreal.They went for something edgier than I expected—minimalistic but with a bold, almost seductive vibe. They had me sit on the hood of my car, dressed in my race shirt, slightly unbuttoned at the top. Instead of the typical sleek F1 aesthetic, they went for a rawer look, something that leaned into the grit and intensity of the track but with a more sensual edge.

They wet my hair, slicking it back, which gave me this intense, mysterious vibe under the lights. They cast a deep red glow across the set, creating shadows that played across my face and the contours of the car. The red lighting added an almost dangerous allure, a kind of smoky, backlit effect that made everything feel heightened, alive.

Every photographer I've ever worked with says the same thing: I'm easy to shoot, a natural in front of the camera. I guess they think it's a compliment, but honestly, it's just familiar territory for me. Cameras have been a part of my life since I was a kid—whether on the track or off it. It doesn't feel like anything special, just... routine.

Anyway, today's something else entirely. I'm meeting up with my cousin and her newborn baby. It's strange how much I'm looking forward to it, even with all the usual chaos swirling around. A little time away from the noise, with family—it feels grounding, even necessary.

The doorbell rings, and I find myself almost running to answer it. As soon as I pull open the door, I'm greeted by the small but powerful arms of Leo wrapped around my leg. He's clinging to me like he hasn't seen me in years, and I can't help but laugh, ruffling his hair.

"Careful, Leo, that's Blair's injured leg," Eva, my cousin, warns softly, though she's smiling. But I just pat his head, reassuring her it's fine, grateful for the warmth of his little hug.

Then, as Eva steps forward, I finally spot the baby in her arms, bundled up tightly in a soft, cozy blanket. The baby looks so small, her tiny face peeking out from under the blanket with rosy cheeks and a peaceful expression, her eyes closed. It's like seeing the most delicate, perfect thing in the world—so fragile, yet somehow resilient in the way only babies can be.

"Come in," I say, motioning them inside. "It's freezing out here."

Eva steps inside with Leo still clutching my leg, clearly thrilled to be here. I guide them toward the living room, and Eva carefully settles herself onto the couch, still cradling the baby in her arms. Leo finally lets go of me, plopping down beside his mom, his eyes darting between me and the baby with that excited, wide-eyed look only little kids have.

I sink into the armchair across from them, unable to take my eyes off the baby. She's stirring slightly in her blanket, her little fists poking out for a moment before retreating, as if even the air is new and surprising to her. I feel a strange warmth watching her—a mix of wonder and protectiveness.