I recently met a guy that had a serious collection of pristine Ford Mustang Shelbys. Looking at the curves and shine of these immaculate cars would have even the non-mechanic types looking for some Armor All and cherry-scented air fresheners. One of the cars, a 15 year old car, has never even been wet. It has spent its entire existence in a covered garage. After talking for awhile, I realized the guy was most proud that the cars have really low mileage. That’s where he lost me. 

The Comparison

I started thinking about insanely attractive performance cars like that and how they just have to sit in a garage instead of being on the street doing what they’re good at. Accelerating, taking curves, rumbling at a traffic light making the guy next to you wonder if you’ll punch it or not. I had to make the comparison to my own body. 

What am I?

What kind of race car am I? I had to ask myself if I’d rather be a Ford Mustang Shelby looking spotless in the garage with low miles or if I’d prefer to be the scratched and dented version with a thousand stories about all the places, races, and faces I’d encountered along the way. For me, my friend, it’d be the latter by a mile. 

Make your choice.

Death always comes at the end of life but not usually at the end of your plans. Most of the time death comes mid-sentence when you still have a lot left to do. Keeping that in mind, I plan to stay hungry. Work hard, play hard and keep some skin in the game. If by chance I do live to an old age, I won’t be looking at my shiny-self and taking pride in all those days I rode to the show on a trailer under a cover and out of the rain. Instead, I plan to be smiling and thinking about all those times with the top down where I stomped the engine just as the light turned green.