Page 176 of The Legend
“I can’tbelieve it!” she sobbed.
“I know.”I’m not sure what she couldn’t believe but knowing myself, it was probably theunreality of it all. Who has a season like this right before retirement?
Well, Idid. Because I gave it everything I had.
When theannouncers finally got my attention...you wantto know what I said right then?
“This isfor you dad,” and held the trophy in the air.
I kept itsimple, just like him. I didn’t say anything else to the camera’s, just that. Ididn’t go over my strategy or how I saved fuel or what pit call led the win. Itwas simple. It was for him, the legend who made this all possible for me.
My lifewas hundreds of races, fragments of action. Some leading nowhere, most leadingnowhere. But then when least expected a race comes together and swings yourway. Those were the moments that made those fragments worth it.
That verylast race would be a memory that I would hold with me forever as a race wasnever just a race. To some, it was more.
Everyonesees a race in a different light. The outcome is the same, but everyone at therace takes away something different.
The fans,crowded tightly into the metal bleachers all cheering their favorite driver on.And maybe I was their favorite driver, but either way, the experience wasdifferent from let’s say the NASCAR official watching out for lapped traffic,debris, and even track conditions at times. He calls the start of the race,waves the yellow and restarts the race. And then, after five hundred miles, hewaves the checkered flag. More than likely, he remains indifferent as to whowon but that race meant something different to those fans standing behind himor me.
It meantsomething different to the spotters perched high above the track with driversputting their faith in them and their judgment. There were the crew chiefs callingthe shots on the box or the crew members turning out twelve second pit stops.Also the wives, crossing their fingers, biting their nails and the owners,wanting their drivers to win and give a good showing to the sponsors whoprovided the opportunity.
Eachperson took something else away each Sunday and it meant something completelydifferent.
That fan,maybe it was bragging rights with their friends that their driver won.
Thatspotter, who his driver had put complete faith into him, he got him throughfive hundred miles to pull off a win and that’s not easy to do.
That crewchief, he made the right calls. The crew members, they performed pit stops toperfection and got the driver the jump he need on forty-two other drivers.
The wifeshe took pride in knowing that her prayers and nail biting got him through itand safely in her arms again.
Thatowner, he had the satisfaction of knowing that he built a winning team.
But tothat driver, the one that watched the race enfold behind the wheel and was thefirst to see that checkered flag after five hundred miles battling inches fromother cars at nearly two hundred miles per hour and scrapped for everyposition, fought for every inch and put his trust into others, he had thecomfort of knowing that he did what forty-two other guys did not.
He won.
A win maybe just a win in the record books but it meant so many different emotions fromeveryone that witnessed it whether it from the fence line to the wheel.
To me, andmy family, words couldn’t describe what this win meant to us.
A turn, ayellow line,a banking, a straightaway, all that movestogether creating a shape that becomes a race, a lifestyle, but a race is neverjust a race. Why risk it all for just a race?
Thatnight, after my last race, I stayed up until the better part of the morningcelebrating with my family in Jacksonville. My favorite part was being with mywife.
Her handstraced the tired lines, seeing every imperfection I had. Suddenly growing olddidn’t feel so hard. It didn’t with her.
It wastimes like this, wrapped together that her words, her touch; that her presencehung on the walls of my heart, assuring me this was right.
“I neverthought we would be here.” I said referring to me now being retired.
“I thinkthat this played out the way it was meant to.” Her hand touched my heart. “Youare capable of more than you know.”
It may notseem like very much, but it was what I needed.
Undeniably,I wish that it had played out a little differently. I wished my dad was here. Iwish that he saw it. Saw the dedication I put into coming back, the end to astory he helped scripted.
It wastimes like this that it felt good for people to say that you’re the best. Iwon’t sit here and say it didn’t feel good to be accepted into a sport that wasso tight because it did. Feeling as though you are a polarizing figure in asport that’s so highly scrutinized is a numbing sensation.
