cars

I’m ashamed to say that I went into Friday’s AMG Driving Academy bellowing like a blustery fool. The second biggest one in the country.

I declared that I would “kill it!.” That I would “shred that racetrack, drive like a bat-of-of hell, and win!” If God has gifted me with any two things in this life it would be audacity—and conviction. Which, if you think about it is horrifying. There is no balance because sadly, I was getting a second helping of pie when common sense and humility were being passed out.

You see, I believe in the alchemy of osmosis. That the very act of living with, and sleeping next to my husband, the motorcycle and car, track-day speed demon, would make me fearless…and faaaaaaast. After fifteen years SOMETHING cool has to rub off, right? (I’m still waiting for the French accent.)

But I was missing the most important ingredient. SKILL.

Maybe you’re like me and you have no idea how this shit happens. Here’s how a track day works:
They vomit three day’s worth of facts, rules, statistics, and blah, blah, blah at you before you’ve had your coffee. It isn’t civil. After about thirty minutes, they see your eyes glaze over and they’ve bored themselves to the point where they announce, “fuck it, let’s go drive!”, and proceed to lead you to a fleet of very expensive, high-performance cars.

Then they start the day with an exercise. An ice breaker to get you acquainted with the power of the vehicle at your disposal.

Imagine this being yelled at you by an auctioneer.

“Getinyourcars! Adjust the seat and mirrors,go to the line,push the gas pedal TOTHEFLOOR! get the car up to 60 mph in like five seconds (not 58 mph, not 63 mph!), when you see the blue cones slam the brakes TOTHEFLOOR! You have an obstacle right in front of you,(an imaginary gas truck), control the skid while turning the vehicle to the left to avoid becoming a charcoal briquette, then steer immediately to your right to get back into your lane and come back! Go!Go!Go!Go!”

As Raphael and I  ran to our car I started to shake. Violently. “I have NO idea what he wants us to do!” I shrieked. The guttural sounds of four-hundred horses X6 being held back drown out our voices. It was deafening. FUCK! I needed more classroom time! I have questions! “Just watch what I do” he yelled as we hurriedly buckled in. Luckily, that was going to be unavoidable.

What I learned about myself:
1. You need to say “Pay attention to this, it’s going to be on the test, come in handy, save your life later” when you’re disseminating information to me. I like to be informed and clear on what exactly I’m supposed to do—before I’m expected to do it. Also, I like a little foreplay before the main event. I like training wheels and water wings before I venture into the deep end. Huh. Go figure.

2. I’m always the calm one in a crisis. Not here. Turns out I shake violently when in a high adrenaline situation. Or flooded with survival hormones. That does not bode well for deftly steering yourself around a pretend fiery hazard.

3. Eventually, I needed my own car. I wasn’t enjoying the passenger part. It was literally making me sick.

Next was the Skid Pad which is exactly like it sounds. They wet the pavement and you go in a circle, pushing the gas to the floor, causing the car to spin like a bad-ass ice-skater, (all the people who grew up driving on ice did extremely well). Then using some skill you were supposed to have picked up (I was busy getting a muffin), you steer yourself out of an “uncontrolled skid” which is just another way of saying a squealing hot-mess of spinning metal and smoking tires. Basically, you’re drifting (car term). To me, it felt like I spent an hour in a high-speed blender.

What I learned about myself:
3. Even though I took a pill for it, I get queasy when you spin me in circles at a high rate of speed.

4. Because it was so hard, it was a rush watching other people do it well.

5. Even though I grew up in So Cal—I didn’t suck.

This next exercise I LOVED. It is called Auto-Cross and basically, it’s a course of cones consisting of straightaways where you accelerate as fast as you can and then attempt corkscrew and hairpin turns all done at high speed—without knocking over any cones. It is unbelievably fast and furious. And it is timed. A best personal time…and a team time. The pro time was 22 seconds. Seconds! Gulp.

What I learned about myself:
6. Once I calm down and realize the stakes are…nonexistent, I have fun.

7. When I’m on a team— I am competitive as fuck.

8. I really DO like to go fast.

Then, when you’re as dizzy as a drunken sailor they feed you lunch. Lunch is where you confer with the others to figure out just how bad you’re actually doing as opposed to how bad you think you’re doing. I also was curious to see if Raph was off sitting with the cool kids. Had I brought shame to the family? Or had I done well enough to sit next to him—to make him proud. (I was happy to see that he had saved me the seat next to him.)

9. I learned that where racing is concerned (and probably a thousand other things I never think about), I want to make him proud. (Head slap).

After the food and all of our new-found knowledge had settled, they led us onto the world-famous Laguna Seca racetrack and that is where I have to say, I learned the most.

Follow the lines. There are cones placed at various places along the track that you are supposed to focus and aim for. It helps you to place your turns and to use the entire track. It hastens the sense of flow.

Speaking of flow, there is no chance in hell of over thinking while you race. None. Everything happens too fast to think about it. I found myself driving with some kind of weird supernatural, mindless-instinct. 

Use the whole track. In my newbie-ness, I was tempted to drive in a straight line or hug the edges. Using the entire track felt FAST. But after I got the hang of it—also really skillful and empowering.

Don’t forget to breathe. I had to be reminded. Constantly. By my husband. Who likes me to be conscious while I race expensive, fast cars.

Follow the instructor’s lines. VERY important to learn the track behind an expert. I suck at follow-the-leader. I hate it. Until I wanted to survive more than I wanted to blaze my own trail—then I learned to love it.

Focus. Focus. Focus. It is exhausting. But just like in life, a lazy, distracted mind can lead you into the weeds.

Look way ahead to where you want to go. Not to what is directly in front of you. If that’s where you focus—that’s where the car will go. Even if that means you’re looking out the side window—in the middle of a sharp turn—at high speed. Look where you’re headed. Not out in front. Counterintuitive, I know. But when you’re spinning on ice that’s what controls the skid. That’s what gets you around the fiery obstacle.

So now you’re thinking this is where she ties spirituality in with all of this racing stuff  and you’re right. I truly believe these exact same skills are the ones I’ve had to remember—and utilize—to get myself through this crazy life. How about you?

Carry on,
xox

 

Oh God, pah-leeeeez don’t ask me to go with you, please for the love of all things holy go by yourself…

“I’d really love you to go with me to this car rally on Sunday”

There, he’d gone and done it, he’d interrupted my prayer vigil to ask me to do the very thing I was dreading: accompany him on an all day car rally in his newly restored vintage 1961 car —  the car of his dreams which he’d waited five years to drive — on his birthday weekend.

The trifecta of wifely favors.

Fuck.

I would rather have needles stuck in my eyes, walk on hot coals, or go to Disneyland with a bunch of little kids —on a hot day — during spring break.

But you see, I’m not a total ass, I had endured one of these rally’s in another car a few years back and It. Was. Torture. According to the rules of the Geneva Convention.

Every other participant knew Moses when he was a boy, the median age being approximately one hundred and seven, and saying I had nothing in common with their trophy wives who were hoping against hope that that Sunday would be the day the old geezer would kick the bucket – was an understatement of epic proportions.

I was sure I could not endure another vintage car rally, but in light of the fact that I am currently extolling the virtues of the book The Zim Zum of Love by Rob and Kristen Bell, I was forced to reconsider.

One of the things the book talks about is maintaining the energy or Zim Zum that exists between couples. One of the ways is through simple acts of kindness.

So I knew I had to suck it up…and walk the talk.

Fuckity, fuck, fuck.
He was so excited, all enthused and …happy; an emotion he hadn’t displayed in the month since our old dog had passed.

And did I mention it was his birthday?

So I grabbed myself by the scruff of the neck (not an easy feat) and had a Come-to-Jesus-Talk with ME.

You’ve got to do this so you might as well make the best of it. Try to have fun (that was my mantra all day) this means so much to him and it really is no skin off your nose to take a long ride in a cool car to Malibu for lunch. Try to smile, try to make conversation, try be nice — try to have fun.

In order to jooj up the fun factor I decided to be anyone but myself and play the part of a sixties femme fatale. I donned the requisite head scarf, Jackie O shades and attitude to get into the character of an International Woman of Mystery, someone who would have ridden in that car back in its heyday, and I’ve got to say, as corny as it sounds, that really helped.

That is until they let the air out of my balloon when they handed us the ten pages of “crazy clues and fun facts”  that were part of the directions to our lunch destination.

I would have loved to have seen my face — My eyes rolled so hard I almost did a back-flip

This was that most dreaded of all car rally’s: The Cloying Scavenger Hunt Rally where the navigator (me) reads the pages and pages of ever so clever clues to the driver in order to figure out which street to turn on or how far up ahead to stop.

Fuck.

I almost ripped off the scarf and glasses and went screaming down the hill, that is until I looked at his face. He looked so… hopeful, wanting me to just go along and be a sport, and I could hear the wobbly, self righteous Zim Zum between us calling my name…Janet…be kind…do the right thing…how many stupid-ass things have you dragged him to?

Zim Zum never lies; so I sucked it up, put on my shades, tied my head scarf and smiled; then down through the hills of Beverly we went as I called out clues and street names.

Try to have fun…just have fun. I kept repeating until it got easier.

The further we went, the sillier we got (truth be told he also thought this whole part was asinine. Whew!) Until we were laughing and waving at fellow drivers and suddenly I realized I was having a rally good time.

It turned out to be the perfect way to take his new baby out for a spin; and once we figured out where we were headed we just relaxed, chucked the ridiculously difficult list of clues, (it’s not like we were being graded) and enjoyed the gorgeous day.

Sometimes a relationship; a marriage; requires sacrifice.

Sometimes that sacrifice takes up your entire Sunday.

Sometimes you are reduced to wearing a disguise, I mean scarf and sunglasses, to make it palatable.

And sometimes, if you stop being such a stuck-up-bitch-face, stop thinking of only yourself and just show some love and kindness to your husband on his birthday — in spite of yourself you can have a whole lotta fun.

I’m always learning.

Psssst…don’t show too much enthusiasm or he’ll make you go every time.

Carry on,

Xox

There is a mysterious, indescribable, complex exchange that can happen in the space between you and your partner. You find each other. Your centers of gravity expand as your lives become more and more entwined. You create space for this other person to thrive while they’re doing the same for you. This creates a flow of energy in the space between you. This energy field is at the heart of marriage. It flows in the space between you, space that exists nowhere else in the universe. You can become more familiar with how this energy field works. You can develop language between you to identify what’s happening in the space between you. You can sharpen your abilities to assess it. You can act in certain ways to increase the flow. You can identify what’s blocking the flow, and then you can overcome those barriers. Years into your marriage, you can continue to intensify this energetic flow between you.

It is risky to give yourself to another. There are no guarantees, and there are lots of ways for it to fall apart and break your heart. But the upside is infinite.

—from The Zimzum of Love

New York Times bestselling author Rob Bell and his wife, Kristen Bell, explore a whole new way of understanding our most intimate and powerful relationship: marriage. The concepts behind The Zimzum of Love open ways for us to transform and deepen how we love.