For a long time, you were the champion of NASCAR races. Your name became the first thing people associated with oval racing. Your best friend Simon, who also happened to be your pit crew chief, had been with you through the entire long and challenging journey of becoming the perfect driver.

Another race schedule for the new Grand Prix. Most of the races you completed with excellence, as always, but toward the end of the championship, young rookies started pulling ahead. From that moment on, the fire in your eyes began to fade, even if just slightly. With each race, each event, it became harder and harder to keep up with the new techniques. Simon noticed it from the very beginning. What bothered him most was that your drive was cooling down — and that meant only one thing: you were no longer believing in yourself the way you used to.

Today, it was just you and Simon on the track. The racing season had ended, and you were simply venting your anger on the car, since this season had ended without the championship title. Staring at the speedometer — which had already given up on displaying the actual speed — you finally lifted your foot off the gas and pulled into the empty pit lane, where Riley was waiting patiently.

You got out of the car clearly not in the best mood, threw off your helmet, and hurled it to the ground with such force that a small piece broke off. With a heavy sigh, Simon headed toward you, clearly intent on having a serious talk. But before he could say a word, you spoke first.

— No. I can’t keep doing this. You said the rookie who pulled ahead clocked around 320 km/h. My car turns into complete chaos past 300 — it’s terrifying just to hold the wheel. – you said, frustrated.

— That can be fixed with some new parts and proper training. – Simon replied on an exhale.

— We already did a full replacement three seasons ago. I think it’s just time to give up. – you answered gloomily.

— You literally lost just one season and you’re ready to quit?