Fuel Me, Break Me, Love Me

“Dalon! Dalon!” That infuriating voice of the reporter that just doesn’t seem to get that I am not in the mood to talk to him or anyone for that matter. “Dalon, can you please give us a moment of your time?” I sigh and turn around, reminding myself that I am a public figure, that it is in my contract to face these vultures that can’t give a man a moment of peace after a shit weekend. I need to keep reminding myself that I am obligated to give a statement, even when that is the last thing I want to do. 

“What can I do for you?” I force a smile on my face, trying to act like the carefree version that the public seems to thrive on. 

“It has been a tough weekend for you.” He starts. Well, no shit. Tell me something I don’t know. “But you had a really good race.” He tries to pick up the mood, but it doesn’t matter how good the race was, I still lost my position on the championship, and I will have to work twice as hard to get back to the first place in this championship. I already know what people are thinking and it frustrates me to no end that I will be reminded of my fuck ups, rather than be remembered for my ability to take over six other racers to get from tenth to fourth position. Who am I kidding, I will be reminding myself of all my fuck ups rather than celebrate my victories. In the end, my fuck up in qualification had cost me my spot in the championship, and no matter my victories, the facts still show I am now second in the championship, behind by ten points. 

“Yeah, it has been.” What the hell am I supposed to say to that?

“You had a really good race out there despite qualifications. How do you feel about the results of today. I mean going from tenth to fourth is a win in its own. Do you think you could’ve done better, perhaps moved past Caled in those last five laps or was fourth the best you could’ve gotten out of the car tonight?” The same questions as always unless you are standing at the top of the podium, taking home the winning trophy. 

“It was a really good race. Being able to overtake four cars, the two at the start had obviously helped by taking themselves out of the race and presenting me with the safety car to help get my tires a bit more warmed up as I started on the hard. I had really good pace the entire race through, but at the end of the day, by the last few laps, I was on the medium tired while everyone else was on the hard and the degradation on the tires with the heat out here was a high risk. I had to look after the tires at the end and just couldn’t build up enough pace to get within DRS range of Caleb.” I say with a shrug, more than ready to get out of here and get a drink in my hand and music pounding out the noise in my head.

“Seeing as you lost your spot as the lead of the championship to your teammate, how will things be within the team going forward?” He asks and I need to remind myself that I am not allowed to swear, or I will have fines to pay. I also can’t hit a reporter for placing me in the position to answer this idiotic question. 

“Oliver and I have been racing together for the past three years, and we have become more than teammates in that time. He is not my competition, but my motivation to be better in the next race. I mean, how can you be better than what you are if there is not some healthy competition that is pushing you to be better?” There, I think I answered that with the team spirit they were not hoping for. 

“What a fantastic point of view and so positive. Tell me, is that where your mindset is now?” He asks and I want to scream, ‘NO!’. I am not positive, I am pissed off. I am not happy that I lost my spot, but I sure as hell won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me break. 

“As a driver you need to adapt, and that means that when you lose, you need to learn to deal with those failures and learn from it, or never succeed. I plan on learning from this weekend and coming back stronger in Miami.” I tell him and then quickly excuse myself before he can ask another question. I need to get the hell away from here before I lose my shit and really give the world a show. 

I walk into the paddock, ready to head to my changing room and just have a few minutes to myself, but Brian Black, the CEO of Maclaren and also my boss, stops me as I walk in. “Where is your head at?” He asks me and I deflate, the weight of disappointment pressing down on my shoulders. 

“I have been doing this for six years and I am only getting to the point where I was finally leading the championship. Oliver is here for his third year and he is leading this championship by a mile. Where do you think my head is at. I feel like a fucking joke.” I tell him honestly, because I have never before felt like I needed to hide from Brain. He is the one that believed in me, gave me the opportunity to step into Formula 1 and he probably knows me better than I sometimes know myself. 

“I am proud of how far you have come, Dalon. You have shown time and time again that you have the potential to be at the top. Oliver is a great motivator to work on yourself.” He says exactly what I had told that reporter. It is true and it makes sense, but that doesn’t mean that it hurts less or that I am any less disappointed in myself.

“I know. I just feel like I need to get away from all this for a short while. Clear my head so that I can get back in the game.” I tell him.

“We have a week off between this weekend and our next race. You have until next Sunday to get your head back on your shoulders. In the meantime, go home, go hiking or whatever it is you do to get your head cleared, but after that, you come back, and you show us that you are still in the battle for that championship.” He says and I nod, knowing I won’t be going home. I need to go somewhere quiet, where no one will know who I am. I need a moment to be anyone but Dalon Sorrin, the famous Formula 1 driver that just lost the lead to his younger teammate.