This is more cathartic venting than 1 Lap blog today so no need to read on if you’re looking for semi-witty, 1 Lap banter.
Last year it took a few days for my hatred for Sebastian to bubble up. By Tuesday’s event last year, we were barely on speaking terms and I had fashioned a boobie trap made of rubberbands and sharpened KFC sporks to 'accidentally' take out his jugular. If only those damn rubberbands didn’t snap, I’d be a much happier man.
Alas, time fades bad memories to leave mostly good and here I sit, one year and five days into the event wondering what the fuck I was thinking. Getting in and out of the car has now turned into a major feat of acrobatics and my creaky joints are protesting profusely. I’ve lost at least 20% of my hearing from the screaming motor immediately behind my noggin (though sometimes I wish I’d lose all my hearing so I wouldn’t hear Sebastian’s latest rant), and the lack of exercise has made me feel like I should make an appointment with Jenny Craig the second I get home. Woe is me.
The day’s results are irrelevant as I type this, but for those who care, we ended the day in 36th. In battle with a twin turbo Dodge Stealth and a few M3’s, hopefully I’ll make it through the rest of the week without a homicide charge or an extradition hearing.
Tomorrow brings the famous Mid-Ohio racetrack in, of all places, middle Ohio.
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