And I woke up to find myself a RACERCHICK

by Nika of racerchicks.com

When I heard the buzz of the alarm screaming the fact it’s “oh-dark-hundred” I thought: what am I doing awake at this time of the morning”. I stumbled out of bed with mattress marks on my face, thinking even birds don’t get up at this ungodly hour. I had really lost my mind. Driving to the race track I saw the sun come up with the mist still lingering on the hills. I muttered under my breath: somewhere, someone is still under their blanket enjoying the warmth and comfort of their bed.

As I pulled up with my supply laden vehicle to the gate keeper, flashing my credentials and parking pass, I was quickly informed my parking was 4 miles away, over the hill, down a gully and maybe in a different state. The look of sleep in my eyes was met with confusion since I saw my very own pit about 50 feet away. The thought of lugging my cooler, luggage, car parts etc from my parking area is enough to turn me away from exercise forever. I haven’t had my coffee yet! With my glorious power of persuasion (well maybe just my natural born stubbornness) I talked the Fence Nazi to let me go into the paddock for a mere 5 minutes. They mentioned something about “crowd control” which perplexed me further since apart from some nocturnal animals, there were very few other signs of life. I didn’t ask, I just grumbled incoherently.

The day was hot and muggy. With damp skin and drenched clothing I occasionally had to remind myself to check for grease marks on clothing or body parts. Maybelline was replaced with brake dust as my foundation since any make up I started with melted away by the first practice session. Did the extra strength deodorant work – I sure hope so but any perfume was masked with the scent of racing fuel. The sun burn was there at the end of the day --half way down my arms and mid-thigh. No explanation is necessary.

I watched the race with my heart in my hands. The anxiety level was worse than a visit to the dentist. My stomach did somersaults, as I paced like an expectant father. Tell me I’m having fun – tell me the stress level is what I crave. I snuck out for my track food lunch – could not even be called gourmet by the farthest stretch of the imagination. I knew it would come back to haunt me. Why do I put myself through this torture you may ask? Well, because it’s not torture.

As much as you may think I am but I’m NOT COMPLAINING…….I’m a racerchick. Maybe I don’t have that fancy French manicure I used to have, and sleeping in on weekends just never happens, but given the chance to this all over again and I’d be there in a heartbeat – because I’m a racerchick and proud

For comments, feedback and just plain greetings, feel free to e-mail me at nika@racerchicks.com or AOL IM  "racernika"