Storytime: Watch This!

Starting to believe, or believing to start?

Once upon a time, long, long ago, in a land far, far away (when you live in the Pacific Northwest, Florida is far, far away), a thing happened that led to another thing happening, and that led to another thing happening, which also led to more things happening.

That’s what this story is all about: things happening, mindset shifts, beliefs, starting, and results. In fact, everything that I wrote about in Imagine Believing and Race Starts over the past few weeks (but from a less technical perspective), and more about how things happen — that’s what this story is about.

The year was 1997. I was hired to drive with a gentleman driver, Jeff Jones, in a full season in the IMSA World Sports Car class, which was the equivalent of today’s GTP cars. Co-driving alongside us for the Daytona 24-hour and Sebring 12-hour races was Indy 500 winner, Danny “Spin and Win” Sullivan. Mr. Jones was not in the “my rocket is bigger than yours” range of richness, but he was in the “my private jet is faster than yours” club. However, I suspect that his wealth was impacted by Mr. Sullivan’s fees for those two races....

At that time, there were two options for cars if you wanted to win in IMSA’s top class: a Riley & Scott Mk. III, or Ferrari 333SP. We were in the former, and having raced the red Italian option a couple of years prior, I knew what we were up against in what was almost a “kit car” (albeit one damn fine “bit of kit,” as my British driver friends referred to it).

What made the R&S kit-ish was the fact that you could install pretty much any engine you chose; the most powerful option was a Lozano-built Ford. Jeff, Danny and I had a Chevy at our backs. As we found out at the first race of the season, the Rolex 24 at Daytona, we were somewhere around 50 to 75 horsepower down on the Fords. Still, the R&S was a brilliant chassis with more downforce than the Ferraris, so we were looking forward to a strong run over the bumps at Sebring for 12 hours.

Giving it everything I had in qualifying, I found myself lining up 8^th on the grid for the start — the seven cars in front of me were either Ford-powered R&Ss or the sweet-sounding V12-powered 333SPs.

But things actually started to happen before we lined up for the pace lap. The happening began in the driver’s meeting a couple of hours earlier.

Approximately 150 bored and distracted race drivers either stood or sat while an official droned on about things we all knew and didn’t need to pay attention to for what must have been seven-plus hours. Or so it seemed. As many of these driver meetings go, it was like an ADHD convention, blah, blah, blah…. But, wait, what was that he said? “The first hour of the race is televised live, and we have a national time slot to fit, so we have to go green first time by. You know what that means, right? Make it a clean start — you’re all pros and know how to do that, so let’s put on a good show for TV.”

Hmmmmm… That’s the sound my mind makes when it’s thinking about something, and it was LOUD. They’re going to throw the green flag no matter where I am at the start. This could be fun!

To clarify, IMSA was not as strict about the rules regarding positioning at the start of a race as they are in these more modern times. Today, you must not pass another competitor until you’re past the Start line, and you have to stay lined up in your column, either the inside or outside. Looking back on it now, I suppose the officials had not thought about rules like this, yet, or drivers had not abused them enough to motivate them to do so. Yet. The Hmmmm in my head sounded like a gas-powered model airplane engine, and led to a cunning plan for the race start.

Rolling off the grid behind the pace car and seven competitors, I’d made up my mind that I was going to “jump the green.” I knew that the green flag was going to be waved, no matter what. After all, they had a national TV audience to please. Or should I say, a TV producer with advertisers to please.

As the field streamed through the Turns 15-16 section and onto the back straight, my race engineer came on the radio and said, “Yellow. Not going green this time by. A GT car stalled and is blocking the track in Turn 5. One more pace lap.”

Oh, that changes things, doesn’t it? Now, for sure, no matter what, they have to throw the green next time by. Time to take advantage of this, big time.

Entering Turn 17, coming towards the start on the next pace lap, I hung back a little, about a car’s length or two. With a pretty good idea of when the green would be thrown, I was committed to standing on the throttle a second or so beforehand. If I misjudged and went too early, I’d ease up but still be moving faster than the cars around me; if I guessed right, I’d have a big advantage.

I guessed right.

In P4 exiting Turn 1, I had momentum on my side, even if the momentum was just in my head. I’m going to the front.

By lap two, I was in second, and then got by the leader a lap after that. Yes, as everyone settled into their race pace, me and my Chevy faded back to fourth, but I stayed there for two stints, and then pitted to hand the car off to the team owner.

As I climbed over the wall and pulled my gloves, helmet and balaclava off, there were a lot of pats on the back about my race start, even from my Indy-winning teammate. I’d love to say that we went on to win the 12-Hour, but that fairytale would have to wait for another day.

The next race in the season was at Road Atlanta, a track that I absolutely loved (and still love). Once again, I qualified 8^th, and us bored drivers stood on the grid to be introduced to the fans (or should I say, “fan”; back in the 90s there was a joke that went like this: What’s the difference between a NASCAR and an IMSA sports car race? At the NASCAR race, all the fans know the drivers’ names; at the IMSA race, the drivers know all the fans’ names). As a few of us joked around, two of my competitors made a comment about my start at Sebring and said something about not letting me get a jump on them again.

Watch this. I was more than ready to do what I did at Sebring again.

From 8^th, I was battling for the lead within a lap.

Over the next few races, I kept up the trend, gaining multiple positions on the first lap. I was ready, and I was going to the front. Watch this. That was my mindset, and because I had used mental imagery practically every night playing out various scenarios that could happen at the start of the next race, I really did feel better prepared than everyone else. I was beyond confident — it was a foregone conclusion in my mind that I was going to gain positions on the first lap of the next race.

The funniest thing that happened was that by mid-season, many of my competitors were making comments about me “doing it again to them” before the start of the race. Not only was my belief system saying I was going to pass them on the first lap, but they believed that as well.

Watch this. That was my mental trigger. Me being on the grid behind them was the mental trigger for what fellow drivers thought was going to happen to them. They knew what I was going to do.

What started out as something happening — thinking of how I could take advantage of the need by the series and TV to start the Sebring race on time — combined with the (for me) fortunate situation of a mechanical issue for a GT car delaying the start, all of that leading to the start impacting my beliefs about what I can do, and deliberately working at building on top of this with mental imagery and a trigger phrase of “Watch this,” has led to me believing to this day that I’ll always be fast at the start of a race. And, that affected the way other drivers thought of how starts would play out with me.

There is a definite line between ego and an inner belief in one’s abilities. My “Watch this” mental program is deep inside, and it’s nothing I ever have a need to talk about (even though I’m writing about it here — sorry!). In fact, it’s more enjoyable for me to not talk about it, but just do it.

If you’re wondering about the “Watch this” trigger, well, that’s an interesting one, too. I’m not someone who likes to show off and make a big deal about myself. I’ve always been that way. Except when I’m wearing a helmet. I’m a different person strapped behind the wheel of a race car, helmeted and ready to pounce. And prove a point. Yeah, watch this.

Half-way through that ’97 season, a good friend came to watch me race at a track near to where he lived. Gridded in my usual 7^th to 9^th place, and talking to my wife and friend just before getting in the car, I turned and said, “Watch this.”

To me, it wasn’t a big deal, just a little nod to how I was going to approach the start of the race. Looking back now, it was also a glimpse into my belief system. I knew that I was going to do something special on the first lap or two, and it would certainly be worth watching.

Sometimes things happen for a reason, and sometimes they happen just because. I don’t know which came first in my story, but here’s what I do know happened:

• A chance happening (IMSA official pointing out that the Sebring 12-Hour race needed to go green right away to please the TV production people, advertisers, and the twelve spectators. Okay, it was Sebring during Spring Break, so this race may have had close to a hundred thousand spectators on site — with at least two dozen of them sober enough to realize that there was a race going on).

• A chance happening that a GT car had a mechanical problem that emphasized the need for them to start the race on the second pace lap… no matter how much I jumped the green.

• A deliberate effort to use mental imagery to program the mindset that goes with being more prepared to go flat out from the drop of the green; and building on the confidence that was already building. It was spiraling upwards.

• My competitors beginning to believe that I was going to pass them during the first couple of laps.

• A trigger phrase, “Watch this,” that I used over and over again (and still do to this day).

I tell this story for three reasons:

1. A little knowledge and thought can give you an insight that leads to an advantage.

2. Some deliberate use of mental imagery can program the mind in a positive and productive way, to build on what the initial insight started.

3. Trigger words and phrases are powerful.

Actually, there’s a more important reason for sharing this story. I hope you’re able to take something from it (like I did from the IMSA official at Sebring in 1997) and use it to your advantage.

Watch this.