MR2 Championship

Posting this here because it might amuse. It was occasioned by the recent Allcomers race at Oulton but that's not really what it's about. Being an old fart having a few years of fun while I still can, I'm taking care to collect all the pictures, programmes and bits of evidence to give me something to bore my grandkids with. ( If I ever get any - my 30+ year old kids are a bit slow in that regard ) An important part of it is to try and get down what it feels like to race properly. This is part of it and I encourage you to get your thoughts down whenever you get chance. You don't need to share them but it might be fun for us if you do.

Oulton Park 5th Sept ‘09 - This time it's personal.

I am fascinated by what motivates otherwise sane people to spend lots of time and money putting themselves and their bank balances at risk in order to drive cars around race tracks in close proximity to a couple of dozen other lunatics. I think I have worked out some of what it is. You see, every grown up bloke; that is, every small boy over thirty years of age; has a specific mental image of himself, which he thinks is unique, but which in reality is almost identical to every other blokes. It is composed of Robert Redford’s looks, Arnie Schwarznegger’s physique and Steve McQueen’s sang froid. A simple glance enables him to deploy David Niven's charm or Vinnie Jones' menace. It is a tribute to evolution that most men manage to keep these delusions hidden since allowing them to surface usually results in severe embarrassment, physical injury or both. Even the most urbane and civilised of us is driven by these internal role models which is why we strive to find safe(ish) ways of competing with one another.

In my case I arrived at the race track last Saturday, determined to avoid losing face in front of a handful of strangers who simply happened to have chosen to drive the same kind of car as me. In one particular case, I had met the other guy (and his wife) once before and knew him by reputation as a more seasoned campaigner than me with a pretty reasonable track record ( no pun - I mean it in the literal sense ). I had in fact already signed up to partner him in a future race, during which process, I had made implicit claims about my ability and now I felt obliged to live up to them. This, I think, is how we progress. We boast about our capabilities, either openly or just to ourselves, and then put ourselves in a position where we have either to fulfill our boasts or revise our opinion of our own worth. Usually, striving to achieve is less painful than accepting the truth and since we always exaggerate what we think we are capable of, we end up achieving more than we really expected to. That is what happened to me at the weekend. Or at least, that is the way I choose to interpret the results. My fellow competitor will no doubt have a different interpretation involving initial supremacy, technical problems and battling against the odds. He is at least as right as I am but hey, this is my story, not his.

This kind of behaviour is, I suppose, typically Male and is no doubt induced by testosterone; which, in combination with adrenaline, allows us to achieve great feats of skill and endurance and/or rank stupidity. Often, both at the same time. As I drove up the inside of the fastest corner on the track, foot flat on the throttle in top gear and well off the normal racing line, I did begin to wonder which category my plan would fall into. I am convinced that Motor Racing is a mind game. Not in the sense that we attempt to 'psyche out' our opponents, (although we would if we could) but in how we balance the internal pressures of desire to win, fear of failure, confidence in our own ability and caution in the face of unknown risks. We actively seek out situations where we can go from hero to zero or vice versa in the blink of an eye.

Well the fact of the matter is that, on this occasion, the plan worked. I sailed into the following corner, the Shell Oils banked hairpin, well in front and absolutely delighted with myself. The boost to my ego was instantly worth half a second a lap and I pulled away through the next few corners to establish a sizeable lead over my rivals. It matters not a jot that we were competing over the last five places in the race. We all knew that our cars were not capable of racing the lighter and more powerful vehicles ahead of us and this illustrates another facet of our self imposed challenge; we all pick our fights very carefully so that we can rationalize our defeats just as much as we celebrate our successes.

So, I hope that I have conveyed a little of the emotional and intellectual complexities that underlie the desire to drive the nuts off anything with an engine in it that so many of us feel. I don't know whether the rosy glow of self-satisfaction experienced on this occasion will last longer than the irritation and annoyance induced by under-performance at other times but I intend to enjoy it while it lasts. Our egos can always stand a little polishing, even if we do it ourselves. Good luck to you in however you choose to polish yours.

Dave,
Thanks for a well written and very insightful look into the mind of us wannabe racing drivers!
You are absolutly right in so many ways, and I have to say I enjoyed the racing at Oulton Park as much as I have at anytime. I take nothing away from your success and wish it had been me, at the front of the back so to speak. I think we were both winners on the day, and what can be better than that. You for finishing ahead of the regular MR2 drivers, and I, for in my world, "battling against the odds". It matters not that it was self inflicted, my glass is half full as they say.
Just as a point of correction... while you may have been a bizzarre blend of Robert Redford and Vinnie Jones, not to mention the Terminator, I was clearly Ayrton Senna in qualifying, Neil Armstrong landing the Luna Module with only seconds to spare during the race, and Elvis Presley(Lucky Johnson, Viva Las Vegas) who got to take home the girl.

Looking forward to the remainder of the season.
David B