Thorns

17

March 20th
Australian Grand Prix

Lelia Amani

The day drags on in a blur of noise and motion, like I'm walking through a dream I can't quite wake up from. Media day is never fun, but today? It's like I'm floating through it all without actually being there. The reporters, the endless questions, the forced smiles... it's all just background noise. I move through the paddock, checking off the tasks I have to do, trying to focus on the work instead of the tightness in my chest that hasn't loosened since this morning.

I haven't spoken to him since our fight. Lando's been busy, doing his thing with the media, keeping up the front like nothing's wrong, like everything's fine. And maybe it is for him. Or maybe he's just better at pretending. Either way, I don't care. Or, I try not to. But it's hard. I still feel the sting of everything he said, the frustration I can't shake, the way he pushed me away like I was just some inconvenience in his perfect little world.

I shouldn't let it bother me. I've been through worse. All my years of study during my undergrad and med school made it clear that stress can make people act out in ways they don't normally do. But this isn't just stress. It's something else. Something colder that I can't uncover, and I can't shake it.

I move through the day like I'm on autopilot—checking in with team members, making sure Lando's schedule is on time, mocking some light stretches on a piece of notepaper that might help Lando's back pain. But it's all just... mechanical. Routine. I can't even focus on the tasks anymore. I'm going through the motions, and I'm so numb to it all. There's this quiet, simmering frustration beneath the surface, but I'm learning how to bury it. After all, that's the world of Formula One.

I hear the buzz of conversations around me, the chatter of the team, and the occasional laughter from some people in the paddock, but it's all so distant. I don't feel like I'm really here. It's like I'm in another world, one where nothing matters except getting through the day. Just survive until it's over.

By the time we hit the late afternoon, the events had wrapped up, but it felt like the day was dragging on forever. I walk past the media pen, watching Lando pose for more photos, the same practiced smile on his face as he answers questions I know he's answered a thousand times before. I don't stop to watch him for long.

Everything's just a blur of surface-level interactions. People talking to me, asking questions I don't care to answer, offering polite small talk that feels like it belongs to someone else.

At some point, I find myself back in the garage, staring at the equipment like I'm waiting for something. Maybe a sign. Maybe a reason to try and care again. But I don't feel it. I just feel like I'm running on empty, like everything I've been doing for the past few weeks has been this endless cycle of work and pressure and trying to make sure everyone else is okay while I'm left to simmer with my own thoughts.

The tension from this morning hangs over me, but it's fading, replaced by something worse: exhaustion. I can't even summon the energy to be angry anymore. All I want is for the day to be over, for everything to stop spinning for just a moment so I can breathe.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the motorhome windows, my face as tired as I feel. The anger is still there, buried under the fatigue, but I don't have the strength to dig it up again. Not right now.

So I keep going, moving through the paddock like a ghost, just waiting for the day to end. To hit my pillow in the hotel and get a fresh start at a new day. One full of driving. A day where I don't have to stare at Lando for hours, following him around like another journalist or photographer.