When the opportunity to head back to the track presented itself two thoughts crossed my mind. 1. What if I did WORSE than last time. Was that even possible? 2. Was this my chance at redemption. A chance at a new certificate to hang on the wall for 2019? A "well done for making your children proud, and not being half lap Dad" certificate.
I took option two. With nerves in my stomach and a helmet in my hands I stepped back into the seat of an old Nissan, with the sole intention of smashing it into other cars repeatedly until it couldn't move. My 37-year-old spine quivered in fear as I strapped myself down and pulled the helmet over my head.
Driving toward the waiting gate, the neck brace I had popped open, Velcro failing at a critical moment. Because I was strapped solidly into my vehicle I couldn't reach to do it up, and I waved my arm frantically out the window, like a turtle stranded on its shell.
Thankfully my panicked flapping attracted the attention of a passerby who had me ready to go in seconds.
The engines roared as the grid lights turned red to green and I slid into the first corner, cars pushing from behind as I felt traction disappear, the car spinning off into the grass and ... the engine fell silent, and my hopes and dreams of derby glory fell alongside.
Corner ONE I thought, this can't be, as I reached for the key … the car roared back into life and it was back out onto the track.
Multiple laps later and I was a sitting duck, my race over again, but as I walked through the door I tore the "well done for trying" certificate down. Now there's space for one of those "if at first you don't succeed, try and try again" motivational posters. Maybe I'll get one for Christmas!
• Don't miss Adam Green and Megan Banks on The Hits Hawke's Bay from 6am to 9am, Monday to Friday.
