The trick is not to think about what it is you’re about to do. Planning is just another excuse to talk yourself out of it.
Just pull on your anchoring boots and go. Spend enough time lacing them up to feel they are only just secured. Grab your keys, grab your phone, slam the door, and stand in the cool night rain, because it’s fresh, and cleansing, and there.
Get in the car, turn the key, drive, and be glad you didn’t sell it when you thought it looked faintly ridiculous. Remember not to hit the brakes too much; the duff bulb will earn you a pull, and while the fine for the expired road tax would be a small price to pay, you don’t need anything to stop the momentum.
Not now. Not when you’ve only just got going.
Short shift, because it’s fun, and exhilarating, and feels like the power you don’t have. Tune to Kiss and turn it up, not because it’s any good, but because the tempo matches your pulse and reminds you what alive feels like.
Drive, drive, drive.
Put your foot down, flat to the floor, and go. Somewhere, nowhere, anywhere that isn’t here. Revel in how good it feels; if the rain wasn’t lashing, you’d have the roof down and the wind in your hair by now. Turn on the blowers and pretend you have anyway – this is adrenaline that’s meant to be there.
Shift up, shift down, work the timing, work your muscles, feel a part of the machine, feel you have a purpose. Take the racing line around the bend. Go on, you know you want to. You’re perfectly capable – you were taught well enough. It isn’t that tight, the road ahead is clear, and the exit is more important than the entrance anyway.
Remember that when exiting a corner, you don’t put your foot on the gas until you’re sure you never have to take it off again.
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The only checkered flag is the one in your head. There’s nobody to see you cross it, nobody to cheer and no champagne, but the victory is just as great, and just as you feel as if you could do this all night, you’re back, and wondering why on earth you don’t.
