Yet, I’d gotten to that place. I was genuinely excited when I woke up knowing it was the day we’d been building up to, the day we’d finally get out onto the track. Those thoughts went through my mind as I ate a bowl of cereal, my hair a mess, and my bathrobe far from work attire, and I realized how silly I must sound. I’d worked for Freeman Racing for less than a month, yet I was already bundling myself in with the rest of them as if I was some sort of integral part of the process and had any ownership at all over the win or loss. As if the work I did for their social media had become a critical element of their functioning.
Maybe that was actually it. I was just so damn good at my job, I’d gotten myself wrapped up in the energy of it. After all, that was a big part of the purpose of social media for something like a racing company. It wasn’t just about making sure the fans knew when the events were and how to buy tickets or giving them glimpses of the bikes and the tracks. It was about sweeping them up in the furor and making them feel like a part of the team. Giving them a sense of involvement and belonging created excitement and fostered a sense of loyalty. They were much more likely to want to attend multiple races, buy merchandise, and even pay for special events and appearances if they felt like they were some sort of insider who had a true connection.
That made a lot more sense than to think somehow in the last couple of weeks I’d developed a true interest in racing. Except as I got ready that morning, dressing in jeans and a Freeman Racing T-shirt rather than a dress and winding my hair up into a bun on the back of my head rather than styling it or having it hang down, I realized I really was excited. I was truly looking forward to the experience. And I actually did feel like part of the team.
That was certainly unexpected. But not unwelcome.
As soon as I got to the complex, I could feel the energy and excitement buzzing in the air. It was usually far quieter and calmer than I think most people would assume a race company would be, but that morning it was everything I envisioned it might be. People rushing around, noise and chaos, trucks lined up everywhere. There were more people than I was used to seeing in the complex, and even as I tried to identify all of them, I realized I didn’t know who most of them were or what role they played in the spectacle.
Not wanting to get in the way but wanting to capture as much of it as possible, I stood off to the side and watched the preparations unfold. Men brought bikes, tools, and equipment from the storage sheds and workshops and loaded them up on the haulers. Others secured them in place and checked to make sure everything was safe and ready for the trip. I noticed a few people on phones as they ran around, making arrangements and checking details, but I didn’t know what they were talking about.
I’d captured several dozen pictures when Glenda came up to stand beside me. Even the receptionist looked bright-eyed and excited when I smiled over at her.
“Happy race day,” she said.
I grinned wider. “Happy race day. You seem excited.”
“Always am. Race day is fun. Well, race day is a lot of stress and anxiety and causes everybody to go just a little bit out of their minds, but it can also be fun,” she added.
“This is my first one. Tell me about it. What does everybody do? What’s all this stuff? How does everybody handle it?” I asked.
I wanted to whip out my tablet and use the voice recording app I sometimes used to keep notes for myself, but that might seem like I was drifting too close to pretending I was an investigative reporter. I needed to calm down and listen and gather up what I could to incorporate into posts later. Glenda exuded energy as she described the usual race day to me and told me about little rituals and traditions they had. She sounded like she knew them all so well and had such affection for them. It was touching to see how much care she had for the entire thing. I really liked Glenda. She was sharp, smart, and funny when she wanted to be, and tight, controlled, and no-nonsense when she needed to be. That seemed like the exact woman suited to hold down the desk at Freeman Racing.
“Everything ready to go?” one of the men called out to the others just as she finished.