Mirco Lazzari’s ML Magazine

The race has begun, ready set go…!

From the pit lane box window front I look outside, and feel the suns rays are hot and strong, they dilute the colour of the cobalt blue sky. It is the ideal day for a Grand Prix, or better still… it could be. That clear blue sky! As clear as the Valencia’s sky when in November the sun embraces the circuit in the last effort for the year, but lets say it was never struggle and never has been until it started to weigh me down, until at that precise moment in which I recognised it and had to admit it to myself that all was un effort and a struggle of my entire career.

It was more tiring to recognise and admit it to myself than to admit it and announce it to the whole wide world. To the crowd and to those millions of fans and critics who, in any case, expected me to continued to race but It comforts me to think that, although I’m very far away, I’m still around the track, under the same sky that in my previous career has kept me sheltered, protected and dry as under an umbrella in a thunderstorm. I have been very lucky to be part of this life, like it is my destiny and meant to be. At a certain point of my life in the past, all was a struggle, went through hard times I had to admit I was truly scared, the fear of serious injury, falling off my motorbike, fear of dying, fear of not being up to the task, fear of not loving to race or being loved, fear of never winning a race again.

“…one hundred and sixty thousand spectators came to the San Marino Grand Prix, here at the Marco Simoncelli racetrack in Misano, and when there are only a few minutes left before the traffic lights go out and the starting grid is complete…”

The images of my new monitor are reflected on the pit lane box glass as it continues to remind me about the future without me in it. I abandon looking at the sky with my eyes and lounge back to look at the big screen in which projects the concentrated eyes of you, who are in pole position. The latest generation cameras penetrates and evades beyond the rider’s visor, it captures the image of the still iris and pupil between your immobile eyelashes. I know that gaze well, we all have it, we all had it – two seconds before the traffic light go out; today I smirk and laugh a little if I think about it: the eye of the tiger as we call it at the start of the race, the ancious look of the rider amongst the fumes and thunder of the motorbike, accelerators firmly grasped and when it all goes wrong, after the third corner you immediately understand that they are winning, there is no hope for you and you get the look of the sheep, eh eh eh! […]