I wanna go fast.

This past weekend there was a Formula 1 race and a soccer (football) match in Barcelona. The city turned into a zoo. People were everywhere with their Ferrari, BMW, Mercedes apparel on or their FC Barcelona jerseys.

I don’t really follow soccer, or F1 racing for that matter, but I would have liked to gone to the race if tickets weren’t 150 euros (about $200). Instead, I went down to the free BMW expo at the sea port and looked at all the new models. They were alright, nothing too exciting.

Then I went over to a little make-shift track they had set up for one of the F1 cars. The driver of the car was there signing autographs, shaking hands, kissing babies, the usual. He then climbed into the car, fired it up, and revved it down the little track, doing doughnuts at the end. Wow! Now that’s exciting.

This gave me goosebumps, and I immediately wanted to be a racecar driver again. I don’t know what it is about the smell of gasoline, burnt rubber, loud engines, and going fast… but I like it. There’s something in my soul that comes alive. It’s so much more than the car itself or the publicity or any of the crap that goes along with it. I’m talking raw racing. I couldn’t imagine flying around the track at the speeds they do, hugging the turns, feeling the power of the car, knowing you’re in control.