Joined
·
457 Posts
Your day is 16 hours long.
He's been up for 24 straight working to go
racing.
You take a warm shower to help you wake
up.
He wakes up to a one gallon shower
(usually cold)
The thrill of hearing that engine roar keeps
him up.
You complain of a "headache", and call in
sick.
He's chilled to the bone, hasn't eaten all
day, has the flu, and then races his heart
out. Everyone knows a hangover or illness
just makes you focus.
You drink your Starbucks coffee on your
way to work.
He drives 15 hours to the next track
drinking a coke to stay awake. And when
he arrives is forced to park outside the
track until 7:00am when the track workers
will give him 30 secs to get his rig moving
or he gets bumped out of line.
You walk down the beach, staring at all the
pretty girls.
He walks back to the trailor after tearing up
his car.
You complain about how hot it is.
He wears 30 pounds of gear in the middle
of July and climbs in a 140 degree racecar.
You go to the mall and get your hair cut and
styled.
He walks around with helmet hair, the last
product in his hair probable was 10/40 w oil.
You're angry because your shift had to
work late.
He has to travel 500 miles in the middle of
the night with a torn up racecar just for 2
thousand dollars...if he wins.
You criticize your local drivers and say
they're nothing but dumbass ********.
He puts his life on the line to entertain a
crowd of 2,500 people.
You hear the stories about fallen drivers
and say they should have known better.
He knows that the .001 of a sec it takes to
beat to the next car, could be pushing it but
is willing to risk it.
You see the bright lights and lots of trailers
when you go by.
He sees the heartbreak, blood, sweat, and
tears put into his sport, but still believes
this race, it will be his day.
You rush home to catch the next game on
TV.
He stops in some small town to wash the
race car and trailer because he is proud of
what he has accomplished and he wants
everyone to see his car with the love he
does.
You sit there and judge him, saying the that
its a waste of money to go do such a silly
thing and call it a sport.
But its not the money. It's the thrill of
victory, the agony of defeat. It's seeing the
smile on his son's face even after having a
horrible night, because no matter what his
son still thinks he's the best. It's the fans
that cheer for him durring driver
introductions.
It's a drivers life.
He's been up for 24 straight working to go
racing.
You take a warm shower to help you wake
up.
He wakes up to a one gallon shower
(usually cold)
The thrill of hearing that engine roar keeps
him up.
You complain of a "headache", and call in
sick.
He's chilled to the bone, hasn't eaten all
day, has the flu, and then races his heart
out. Everyone knows a hangover or illness
just makes you focus.
You drink your Starbucks coffee on your
way to work.
He drives 15 hours to the next track
drinking a coke to stay awake. And when
he arrives is forced to park outside the
track until 7:00am when the track workers
will give him 30 secs to get his rig moving
or he gets bumped out of line.
You walk down the beach, staring at all the
pretty girls.
He walks back to the trailor after tearing up
his car.
You complain about how hot it is.
He wears 30 pounds of gear in the middle
of July and climbs in a 140 degree racecar.
You go to the mall and get your hair cut and
styled.
He walks around with helmet hair, the last
product in his hair probable was 10/40 w oil.
You're angry because your shift had to
work late.
He has to travel 500 miles in the middle of
the night with a torn up racecar just for 2
thousand dollars...if he wins.
You criticize your local drivers and say
they're nothing but dumbass ********.
He puts his life on the line to entertain a
crowd of 2,500 people.
You hear the stories about fallen drivers
and say they should have known better.
He knows that the .001 of a sec it takes to
beat to the next car, could be pushing it but
is willing to risk it.
You see the bright lights and lots of trailers
when you go by.
He sees the heartbreak, blood, sweat, and
tears put into his sport, but still believes
this race, it will be his day.
You rush home to catch the next game on
TV.
He stops in some small town to wash the
race car and trailer because he is proud of
what he has accomplished and he wants
everyone to see his car with the love he
does.
You sit there and judge him, saying the that
its a waste of money to go do such a silly
thing and call it a sport.
But its not the money. It's the thrill of
victory, the agony of defeat. It's seeing the
smile on his son's face even after having a
horrible night, because no matter what his
son still thinks he's the best. It's the fans
that cheer for him durring driver
introductions.
It's a drivers life.