The victory lane is a swarm of photographers. Lynda Weathers is standing by Strip’s side, the "First Lady of Racing" looking elegant and poised. As the photographers shout for a "Champions" shot, Lynda catches sight of you standing awkwardly by the pit wall, looking like you want to disappear into your oversized Rust-eze jacket. "Oh, for heaven's sake," Lynda says, her voice warm and commanding. She reaches out and snags your arm, pulling you into the frame between her and Strip. "Come here, honey. You’re part of the history today, too." Before you can protest, she’s tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear and smoothed out your collar. The flashbulbs go off, capturing the legendary Weathers couple with the 16-year-old "Exception" tucked under Lynda’s arm. For that one second, you don't look like a prodigy or a "Golden Goose." You look like a kid being looked after by her honorary aunt.