So the idea of racing go-karts? Meeehhhh, I was... perturbed. I quite honestly had no idea how I felt about it. So then we got there, and I watched people go around, and to myself, I think, "Ohhh, Shelby. You can do that!" And I could. I did. I wanted to.
So, the first ten minutes is just a qualifier, right? It's to see how fast your average lap is, so that they can place you for the average race accordingly. Needless to say, I knew I'd be slow. At first I was just trying not to freak myself out, but... by the end, I had a system. I won't say I was unstoppable, because the track attendants stopped us all a couple times... But I mean. I was pretty awesome. And not only did I not come in last, I came in THIRD to last!! Yeah, you can just start calling me Danika Patrick.
So, anyway, when we started the actual race, I was in a different kart, right? This one, whom I named Sheila, suited my needs. The steering wheel was super stiff, so it was hard to skid out of control like I had maybe been doing around sharp corners on the track in my previous vehicle, and I learned the trick of simply pretending the brake didn't exist. (I was pretty much crapping my pants the first go-around after they warned us not to use both pedals at once - it ruins the kart. OH YOU THINK? :/ ) Sooo, I just folded that leg back and completely away from the pedal, so I wouldn't use the brake at the same time, even in a moment of panic.
GUYS. The second time, when my engine revved up... something in me revved up too. And I gritted my teeth and laughed like a maniac. And I mean... no one heard me, but I heard me. And I was like. Wait. What the crap just came out of me? I ACTUALLY PASSED COURTNEY. And she's crazy competitive. I was fllllying. I was passing priests, I was even like, two behind Cody and about even with his brother Cam. (This would be a lot more impressive to you if you KNEW how crazy competitive they are.)
Then, alllll the sudden, the little raceway manager - more like WOmanager, since he was hitting the tanning bed and hair products harder than all three of us sisters combined, guys... All the sudden he's waving a flag for me to stop as I round the corner by him after a straight away. I'm like, do, I, KNOW, YOU? Oh, just let me fumble for the break and ease to a stop as slow as possible, in denial of the fact that all my out-of-character, competitive hard work is WIZZING by me. Oh, hiiiii, guys. No, that's fine. Pass me. I love it. THIS IS FUN. (It really was, but.)
BUT THEN.
This flipping she-man, this... this, shim walks up to me and leans down over my kart is like, "You can't be hitting the brakes as hard as you are on the track out there. It's bad for the engine." I looked at him through my helmet, my evil eye - you know the one, sisters, the left one - just about to pop out of my flipping head. Is he serious? I wait a second and wipe the little eye shield on my helmet to make sure I'm reading his overzealous, douchey expression properly. Oh, yeah. He is. He's so serious, with his twinkling studs of square-inch imitation diamonds adorning his tan, tan ears. Beneath his ever-so-chic dyed black hair. Which clearly doesn't match his blonde, barely there eyebrows.
... Finally, after he's made sure... oh, just everyone on the track has lapped me at least 700 times, he nods, pats the kart, and gets out of my way. Ohhhh, my gosh. I was seeing red. I folded my leg so far back from the brake that my leg was pretty much under my butt. My angry butt. And I HIT THE GAS. By golly, I HIT it. I'd make sure not to "hit my brakes so hard." Sigh. I made up for lost time, and didn't realize I wasn't blinking until two laps later, one of my contacts started to bubble, you know, like the way they do when you try to have a staring contest.
At that point, I couldn't win. So I made it a point to zip around the whole track at what I felt was a break-neck speed (probably in reality like... 15 miles an hour. Hi.) and yet alllways slow down a little as I passed the shim, standing up there in his hardcore black v-neck, looking like he owned the place. I gave him the stink eye so hard that he better feel lucky there was a helmet shield between us.
The victory in all this? I didn't come in last... I still came in third to last after all that.
What a guy... apparently he did the same thing to Courtney - who also didn't use her brakes. It must have been our matching attire... yes. Right down to the shoes. Who says it stopped being funny in the 90's? Coordinating outfits with friends is always okay. (Let's get matching sister scrunchies.)
Stupid guy. He struck me as the kind of person who would wear sunglasses indoors - oh, Johnny Bravo? No. He's not real, and neither are you, SIR. He was NOT worth the enormous bruises I have on both sides of my back from the racing, as well as the muscle soreness. But... the fun I had while there despite his irksome presence was. Sorry I'm sassy. :/ This is two months of a drought in lady-town being answered by a monsoon of hormones and PMS. Mmm, mm. Be my friend?
Also, let's take the family there over Thanksgiving? Dad would seriously love it, and I think mom would giggle the entire time. And probably win.
L-R: Courtney... ward boy?... me, Cody, Hayley (ward girl), Brrrrother.. McIntosh? I'm... gonna name him that now. His shirt said Max Hall Hates Me, so I liked him, but he irked Cody. He was also competitive!
P.S. Don't you just love how SMALL those helmets make the rest of your body look?! Dude. When I get preggers later in life (much later) I'm gonna wear one all the time. Because I most definitely was like the octo-mom of food babies in this picture and you can hardly even tell. THANKS FLATTERING HEADGEAR, THANKS. And... thanks for Cody taking me, so I could discover the Dale Earnhardt Jr. within - a gift for everyone. :))))
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