Good to be bad
I stunk up the joint real bad at the races this weekend.
Which was good.
Because this weekend was about facing my fears.
And for all my hardcore talk, one of my biggest fears is not the treacherous rain slicked corners with mean tire tossing manhole covers, or Cherry Pic'ing teams set to crush the locals...
but the fear of failure.
Especially in public. As these crits so often are.
And I faced my fears, and failed superbly. And survived. Just fine.
I think the 40s are going to be good.