I was a guest on the Driver Interviews with Bobby Fazio podcast recently, and Bobby and his co-host Walt Walker asked me a question that really made me think. Given my own racing experience behind the wheel, along with working with so many racers through ThisIsBracketRacing.com for nearly two decades now, they asked me what aspect of racing that drivers tend to struggle with the most. After considering it for a few moments, my answer caught both the hosts and listeners by surprise: Grace.
As racers, particularly when we attend a “big” event, whether it’s for the first time or we’ve been to dozens of similar events, we typically roll through the gates with expectations and a level of optimism. That’s a great thing: if we didn’t feel like we could win the event if things break our way, why invest the time, money, and energy necessary to compete?
But here’s the thing. Those “big” events – whether it’s the US Nationals or the Million Dollar Race; the Spring Fling or the ET Finals; or whatever race you may have highlighted on your calendar – are popular. That means the car count is high and the competition is fierce. They’re often multi-day events, and the days themselves are long. These races are more of a marathon than a sprint.
Over the course of longer events, rounds are spread out – so it’s often difficult to get a rhythm until or unless we see some win lights. There are often multiple opportunities, spread out over several days. Given that combination, as drivers we’re almost certain to make a mistake or two.
That’s natural. If you sit down at a practice tree and make 20 hits, will you be .00x twenty times in a row? I doubt it. If you’re anything like me, in a good session you’ll string together several good lights, but you’ll miss it every now and then, and you’ll almost certainly red light once or twice. In a low stakes setting, sitting on our couch with a practice tree, it’s easy to shrug those off. Although the task really isn’t that much different when we’re on the track (if we make enough runs, we’ll almost certainly make a mistake – racing is hard), given the nature of a “big” event combined with our incoming expectations, we all too often internalize those mistakes made in competition. When we allow that to happen, one mistake typically begets more mistakes: we begin pushing, and our once high level of confidence craters.
In our defense, this cycle of focusing on our mistakes is what we’ve been taught our entire lives. Think back to grade school. When your teacher handed back your math test with the grade of an “A,” were you recognized for the 19 questions you answered correctly? No, not really. But the one that you got wrong? That got highlighted with a big, red X on your paper. In short, we’ve been taught to focus on our mistakes.
Now, there is some value in that. It’s how we learn: we bring flaws to attention so that we can learn from the mistake in an effort not to make it again. And while that theory does apply to competition as well, I’d argue that more often we would be better served to take in that mistake, process it and then move on as quickly as possible. Maybe even laugh it off a bit! Go so far as to find a way to give ourselves credit for the rounds and/or the things that we DID get right (rather than beating ourselves over the head with what we got wrong). What we can’t allow to happen is identifying with the bad rounds, the mistakes. The instant we tell ourselves “That’s the racer that I am – a loser,” it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.
And that brings up a good point: the way that we speak to ourselves. We’re taught to be self-critical, and again, there are times in which that level of self-awareness does serve us. Take a moment to think of yourself as a coach. If you were coaching a friend or a child the ins and outs of racing, how would you talk to them? You would coach them, while being mindful of their confidence. As a result, you would point out areas to improve, while balancing those with affirmation for things they’re doing well. Except,if you’re anything like me, the tone of your internal dialogue is typically far more harsh. You’d never speak to a child or a friend the way that you speak to yourself. And that’s an issue.
The simple fact is this. You didn’t make a mistake in the race car because you’re doing it wrong, or because you’re a terrible race car driver. You made a mistake in the race car because racing is HARD, and the margin for error is slim. For goodness sakes, we’re playing a game in which the margins between victory and defeat are measured in thousandths of a second!
My mother used to have a sign that hung over the stove in our kitchen. It read “Be patient, God isn’t finished with me yet!” She was ahead of the curve in terms of grace. As Dan Gilbert, a psychology professor at Harvard points out, “Human beings are works in progress that mistakenly think they’re finished.”
What that means is that a mistake doesn’t mean we’re flawed or terrible. It just means we screwed up once! The meaning that we attach to our goof ups is self-determined.
In the context of history, we look back on New York Yankees great Lou Gehrig as one of the greatest ballplayers to ever pick up a bat – a man that was unquestionably a master of his craft. Like racing, baseball is not a game of perfect. Gehrig himself once said that “In the beginning, I used to make one terrible play a game. Then it was one bad play a week, then finally I’d pull a bad one once a month.”
Gehrig wasn’t afraid to make mistakes. He didn’t enjoy messing up, but he realized that it came with the territory. Over time, with practice, analysis, hard work and dedication, Gehrig came to minimize mistakes. Minimization is a worthy goal. Elimination is an impossible edict. The difference between those who succeed and those who fail is not the act of making an occasional mistake: winners and losers both do that. The difference is in how they respond to that mistake.
Here’s a framework to try on for size. Following a performance (good, bad, or otherwise), what if we could honestly tell ourselves: “I did the best that I could with the skills and knowledge that I have… And I’m working to continue cultivating skills and gaining knowledge to be better prepared next time.”
The key word there may just be “prepared.” Make no mistake: Grace is earned. If I come into a performance (a race) unprepared, and I fail, I should be hard on myself – I wasn’t ready for the moment. But in my experience in our sport as an instructor I’ve realized that’s not common. No, you’re invested. You’re committed. You feel prepared. And yet, you falter despite your best efforts. When you know that you brought the best version of yourself to the starting line, and you mess it up – that’s where the grace comes in. In those instances: Give yourself a break. You’ve earned it.
