The race is on

By LINDA KOEHLER

lkoehler@tnonline.com

(Sing the following to George Jones' song, "The Race is On.")

"Now the race is on and here comes Linda up the backstretch,

Heart attack is going on the inside.

My tears are holding back,

They're trying not to fall,

Harry's still in the running,

My true love's banking the Chevrolet.

The race is on and it looks like we're flying

And if we live, we win it all."

That's about how I felt last Thursday as we were sitting on the Pocono Raceway track with the '64 Chevy Malibu Super Sport idling. We were waiting to get the Green Flag.

Thanks to the Pocono Raceway teaming up with the American Red Cross, they hosted their eighth annual blood drive in remembrance of those affected by the tragic events of 9/11.

For a $10 donation, anyone could drive their vehicle for a lap around the Pocono Racetrack in a "Ride for the Red" to benefit the American Red Cross Disaster Fund.

So, there we were ... waiting in our "pole position."

Sitting on that track, watching other cars go whizzing by, I started thinking, maybe this wasn't such a good idea. After all, if God wanted woman to fly, he would have installed a rocket on my back.

I'm not a very adventurous sort of person. I don't go looking for extreme thrills. But sometimes I think that maybe I let a lot of life pass me by because of hesitation.

When I did a little research on the Pocono Raceway, I read something that urged me to talk Harry into the drive on the racetrack.

Pocono was owned by the late Dr. Joseph Mattioli, wife Rose and family.

The Pocono Raceway held its first race in 1968. But after several years, the Mattiolis considered selling it because of financial reasons. They were asked to visit Bill France Sr., president of International Speedway Corp. At the meeting he tried to convince Mattioli not to sell the track, to stick it out and stay the course.

When Mattioli resisted his argument, France pulled out his business card and wrote the following message on the back: "On the plains of hesitation lies the bleached bones of millions who when within the grasp of victory sat waiting and waiting died." (I think he was putting his own words to a quote attributed to Adlai Stevenson: "On the plains of hesitation lie the blackened bones of countless millions who at the dawn of victory lay down to rest, and in resting died.")

Mattioli took France's advice, and Pocono underwent some drastic rebuilding over a 10-year period, spending approximately $30 million.

France gave moral support and a lot of good advice. He and his son, Bill Jr., gave Pocono its second NASCAR race. Mattioli said the rest was history, and had it not been France and his family, Pocono Raceway would not be here today.

And Harry and I would not have been idling on the racetrack late Thursday afternoon because I was tired of always hesitating about whether or not to try something new.

The Green Flag came down and the pace car in front of us took off. We quickly followed behind. With all the windows down, Harry was thrilled to be able to hear the roaring of his 327 cubic inch engine. I was white-knuckling the left-hand edge of my seat and the armrest on my right. As the speed increased, so did my heart rate.

We were going about 85-90 mph. By the first turn as we were banking on an angle, on the inside I was screaming "Pit Stop!"

I looked at Harry's face and could see a grin beginning to form. His inner race car driver persona was living out a dream.

Me? I love speed. My dad and Harry both said I have a "lead foot." I admit to two speeding tickets. But this was a whole different ballgame!

I couldn't imagine what the likes of Dale Earnhardt Jr. and Danica Patrick experience each week when they pit their driving skills against 30-some other drivers, running bumper to bumper at high speeds, all trying to gain the lead position. Here we were, by comparison, just putt-putting along with only one other car about a mile ahead, on a course they would normally be zipping by at 145 mph.

I wouldn't have minded going the whole 200 laps like the pros, as long as I could have taken a potty pit stop. But alas, we only went three laps.

On our final lap, I thought of it as our victory lap and saw an imaginary checkered flag waving us in. It was then I made a promise to myself.

I promised to not let hesitation get in the way as we speed into our golden years. The race is on toward the finish line. I'm hoping we don't run up against any caution flags to prevent us from experiencing all the laps we have remaining.

I don't want to be one of those people who died waiting for life to happen. So from here on in, it's going to be the pedal to the metal.