I don’t remotely remember what I did in the nine days between IMSA Road America and leaving for SRO Road America. […] That probably speaks multitude about where my head was at the time…

I shot myself in the foot before I even boarded the mid-west-bound plane as I simultaneously donned an unflattering cloak of loftiness. I limped through the weekend in denial of my self-imposed injuries, constantly snagging myself on anything in my way. That cloak started to unravel on the drive from Elkhart Lake to Chicago and by the time I boarded the flight home early the next morning, I was grasping at threads to hold it together rather than just letting it go. I should have just let it go.

It didn’t change overnight. I actually sorta thought it would… but it in fact got a lot worse before it got better…..

I came here last year with the best of intentions to turn my misconceptions of my “hometown track” around, but as the fates of the racing gods shifted, I clouded my own head with toxicity. And then the rest of the season seemed to go downhill from there…

Hell hath no fury unless you let it….

So as shadows started to cast upon me this weekend, I actually became worried. It’s not often that I admit a dynamic change works, but this one was definitely for the better.

As we settled into our sleeper cabin on Amtrak 48 from Chicago back home late in the evening of Christmas Eve, my wife looked at me and said “welp, you know what this means?  You’re going to Daytona”.