LAHLOUH: When it Rains, it Pours at Road Atlanta

Photo: Photo: Colin McCarty

Craig Stanton, my spotter, always says, “Gratitude is worth half a second.” If I’m honest, I used to dismiss that as a slightly woo-woo way of saying, “you’re lucky to be here.” I finally understood what it actually means this weekend at Road Atlanta.

I wrote down a list of every single person who had called, texted, or stopped by to offer encouragement. The list had 53 names on it.

And I understood. Not 53 people I might let down. Fifty-three individual people who took time out of their day to say, “you’ve got this.”

Expectations are the Enemy of Joy

This was the most mentally challenging weekend of my career, and the people around me picked me up, dusted me off, and reminded me that I just have to do my best.

A week ago “doing my best” meant something closer to a sterile calculation: the perfect lap in a perfect vacuum with no variables, where anything less was an excuse.

Now I get it. These people aren’t waiting for me to prove them right. They care enough to remind me, repeatedly, that they’re with me. And that deserves gratitude, not pressure.

When I finally accepted that—that their support wasn’t conditional on performance, but rooted in effort—I found that half a second. I drove the car I had, and I drove it with pure joy.

Photo: Colin McCarty

Absolution (No Priest Required)

Every race up to this point had ended with a familiar feeling: dissatisfaction. I know what a good drive feels like. While I could see some progress (with great effort from many), and we achieved fantastic results, I didn’t feel like I was driving like myself.

The real me drives with a knife in my lap, ready for the next overtake.

But blinded by fear, insecurity and pressure, I had been keeping my weapons holstered. Something about the skies opening and my worst fears being realized on track forced me to confront all of it.

In that moment, when the smell of petrichor hit me and I panicked, Thomas Merrill, Justin Kachel, and Jon Manship gave me the lifeline I needed:

“No expectations.”

I’ve heard it before. I just didn’t understand it. How do you rise to the occasion with no expectations?

At Road Atlanta, in a GT3 car in the rain for the first time, at a track I had been wary of all year, I finally gave myself the one thing everyone around me had been asking for:

Absolution.

I expected nothing.

Photo: Colin McCarty

Creeping up on Confidence

The green flag dropped, and the real me showed up. The outside lane into Turn 1 opened, and I went around three cars immediately. I held it around the outside through Turn 3, then picked off two more through Turns 6 and 7.

I was in the fight, where I belong. The track was drying quickly, and we switched to slicks on lap 10. I rejoined in the middle of the group I had just passed, and then got hit into the gravel at Turn 10 on lap 15.

Instead of spiraling like I did at Sebring, I took it in stride and stayed focused. The contact cost us about ten seconds and a handful of positions, but for the first time all season I wasn’t interested in self-pity or worst-case scenarios. I just kept driving.

The lap times came. Then they kept coming. Every lap, a little more grip. A little more commitment. A little more of myself.

Suddenly, I was flatting Turn 12 and laughing about it. The same corner I’d been white knuckling for two days.

Confidence gets talked about like it’s a reward that arrives after success. But it isn’t. It’s not something you earn. It’s something you choose.

I’d spent months waiting for it to show up.Road Atlanta forced me to drive without it. And somewhere in the process, I found it anyway.

Home is Where the Heart Is

When the caution came out, things got interesting. We took the pass-around and suddenly found ourselves back in the mix. At the restart, I passed three cars in class— one immediately into Turn 11, and two more in a three-wide move into Turn 10.

I was right in it, and felt right at home. At the track I had dreaded all year, in a GT3 car, in changing conditions, after getting punted off the track, I was finally just driving.

Of course, racing has a sense of humor.

We picked up a penalty for a pass-around procedure infringement. 2:42, same as our car number. Then another for not serving the first one correctly. Statistically speaking, not ideal strategy.

A few months ago, that might have broken me. This weekend, it didn’t. I had already gotten what I came for. I was driving like myself again.

Photo: Colin McCarty

Half a Second

When I handed the car over to Thomas, we were effectively out of contention. He did what he always does—he drove brilliantly. The team executed flawlessly in the stops.

If you look at the results sheet, you’ll see P11. What I see is a weekend where I finally stopped trying to earn the right to be here. I stopped carrying expectations that others had already given me permission to put down.

The funny thing is that once I did, I drove better than I have all year.

Road Atlanta didn’t expose me. It reintroduced me to myself. The list of 53 names is still sitting in my notebook. Every call. Every text. Every reminder of who I am when I forget. They carried me through this weekend—not because they expected anything in return, but because they cared.

Craig was right. Gratitude is worth half a second. Not because it makes you faster. Because it reminds you that you’re not driving alone. And when you believe that, fear doesn’t stand a chance.

Photo: Colin McCarty

Next Up: Road America

After a long summer break, we head to Elkhart Lake and one of the most iconic circuits in North America. Four miles of fast corners, heavy braking zones, and a lot of time to think between them. The track is longer. The braking zones are bigger. The expectations are finally smaller. And the job remains the same.

Show up. Face the gaps. Close them.

Source: Sports Car 365