Turn one was chaos controlled by precision.
Philippe and I entered side by side, neither willing to concede the corner. His kart was on the outside, which meant he had more track to work with but a longer distance to cover. I had the inside, which meant I controlled the apex but had to defend against him carrying more speed around me.
We'd both calculated the angles, the speeds, the risks. This was chess at a hundred kilometers per hour, played by a seven-year-old and a ten-year-old with a championship on the line.
I held my line through the apex, felt Philippe's kart inches from mine, heard his engine screaming as he tried to power around the outside. For a moment, we were perfectly parallel, neither ahead, neither behind.
Then I got to the throttle first, used the tighter line to my advantage, and emerged from turn one with my kart half a length ahead.
Lead maintained. First corner survived.
The next three corners were a symphony of defensive driving. Philippe was faster on the straights with more power from his larger frame, but I could brake later and carry more speed through technical sections. Every straight, he'd close up. Every corner sequence, I'd pull away slightly.
[Lap 1 Complete]
[Position: 1st]
[Gap to 2nd (Philippe): 0.4 seconds]
[Gap to 3rd: 2.1 seconds]
[Assessment: This is going to be a battle. Every. Single. Lap.]
[Current Strategy: Defend when necessary, attack when possible, don't make mistakes.]
[Championship Calculation: Currently winning if the race ends now.]
By lap three, we'd established a rhythm. Philippe would pressure me on the straights, I'd extend the gap in the technical sections. We were pulling away from the rest of the field, turning this into a two-driver race.
Marc's voice came through on the pit board: "GAP +0.5" meaning I'd extended the lead slightly. But I knew it wouldn't last. Philippe was too good, too experienced to let me get comfortable.
Lap five, he made his move. Down the back straight, using the slipstream, he pulled alongside as we approached the heavy braking zone. I defended the inside line, forcing him to take the outside.
We went through the corner side by side again, but this time I'd compromised my exit defending the inside. He got better drive off the corner and pulled ahead on the following straight.
I was in second place now.
[Position Change: 2nd]
[Gap to leader: 0.2 seconds]
[Lap: 5 of 15]
[Championship Status: Currently losing if race ends now]
[System Note: Don't panic. You have ten laps. Plenty of time. Stay calm, stay focused.]
The pass had been clean, perfectly executed. I couldn't even be frustrated about it because it was exactly what I would have tried to do. Philippe had been patient, waited for the right opportunity, and taken it decisively.
Now I had to do the same.
I stayed close, studying his driving, looking for weaknesses, areas where I could be faster. He was smooth, consistent, making very few mistakes. But everyone makes mistakes eventually. I just had to be ready when the opportunity came.
Lap seven, I noticed something. Through the fast left-hander in sector two, Philippe's line was slightly compromised. He was taking too much curb on entry, unsettling his kart, losing time on exit. It was tiny, maybe a tenth of a second, but it was there.
I adjusted my own line, staying smoother through the corner, and sure enough, I was gaining. Not enough to pass, but enough to stay in his slipstream, enough to keep the pressure on.
[Gap: 0.1 seconds]
[You're faster here. Use it.]
Lap eight, I made my move in the same corner where I'd gained time. Went to his inside, committed early, trusted my line. We were side by side again, and this time I had momentum.
Into the next corner, I had the position back.
First place. Leading again.
[Position: 1st]
[Lap: 8 of 15]
[Gap to 2nd: 0.3 seconds]
[Championship Status: Winning if race ends now]
[Seven laps to go. Stay focused. No mistakes.]
The next four laps were the longest of my life. Philippe stayed right behind me, never more than half a second back, constantly probing for weaknesses. Every corner, I had to be perfect. Every braking zone, I had to defend. Every straight, I had to position my kart to break the slipstream.
It was exhausting. My arms were burning from the constant steering inputs. My neck was straining from the G-forces. My mind was processing a thousand decisions per lap, all of them critical.
But I'd trained for this. All those winter sessions, all that physical conditioning, all those mental exercises with Dr. Renaud. This was what it was all for.
[Lap 12 Complete]
[Position: 1st]
[Gap: 0.4 seconds]
[Three laps remaining]
[Your lap times: Consistent]
[His lap times: Slightly slower by 0.05s per lap]
[He's fading. You're not. Conditioning is paying off.]
Lap thirteen, I felt it. Philippe's pressure easing slightly. Not dramatically, but enough to notice. His kart wasn't as close on the straights, wasn't quite as threatening into the braking zones.
He was getting tired. The physical demands of racing at the limit for this long were catching up to him.
I wasn't getting tired. Not yet. My training, my smaller size requiring less energy to muscle the kart, my absolute determination to finish this race, all of it kept me sharp.
[Gap: 0.6 seconds]
[He's dropping back. You're pulling away.]
[Two laps remaining.]
[Don't celebrate yet. Anything can still happen.]
Penultimate lap. I focused on consistency, hitting my marks, not making mistakes. The gap extended to eight-tenths, then nine-tenths. I could see Philippe in my mirrors, still fighting, still pushing, but losing ground.
This was it. One more lap. Fifteen corners between me and a championship.
[Final Lap]
[Gap: 1.1 seconds]
[Championship: Within reach]
[Stay calm. Stay smooth. Finish this.]
I've never driven a more careful lap in my life. Every input was measured, every corner approached with respect. I wasn't racing Philippe anymore. I was racing the track, racing my own potential for mistakes.
Turn one of the final lap: Clean.
Turn two: Perfect line.
Turn three through six: Smooth, consistent, no drama.
Through sector two, where I'd gained time earlier: Flawless execution.
Into the final sector: Gap holding at 1.2 seconds.
Three corners remaining.
Two corners remaining.
One corner remaining.
I could see the checkered flag being raised. My hands were shaking on the steering wheel, but my line was true.
Final corner. Apex. Exit. Throttle.
The checkered flag waved.
I crossed the line in first place.
Winner.
Champion.
[RACE WINNER]
[CHAMPIONSHIP WINNER]
[Age: 7 years old]
[Junior Class Champion]
[Against drivers aged 7-12]
[Youngest champion in series history]
[Mission Accomplished]
The reality hit me like a physical force as I crossed the line. I'd done it. Actually done it. Not just finished well, not just been competitive, but actually won. Taken the championship against drivers older, bigger, more experienced.
I'd proven that I could back up the claims. That the opportunities weren't wasted. That I belonged.
As I slowed down on the cool-down lap, emotions overwhelmed me. Relief, joy, vindication, gratitude, all of it hitting at once. I was crying inside my helmet, tears streaming down my face, glad that nobody could see.
Seven years old, and I'd just won a championship.
In my previous life, I'd been twenty-eight years old and had accomplished nothing of note. Now, at seven, I'd already achieved something most people never would.
The pit area was chaos when I pulled in. Chloe was jumping up and down screaming. Claire was crying openly, not even trying to hide it anymore. Lawrence stood with both arms raised, his normally composed business persona completely abandoned in favor of pure parental pride.
Marc helped me out of the kart, and I pulled off my helmet to find the entire pit area erupting in applause. Not just my family, but other families, other drivers, officials, even people who'd been skeptical of me competing.
"You did it," Marc said, and I could hear emotion in his voice too. "Lance, you actually did it. Junior class champion at seven years old."
Philippe finished second, pulling into the pit area moments after me. He climbed out of his kart, took off his helmet, and walked over.
I tensed, unsure what to expect. In my previous life, I'd seen plenty of bad sportsmanship, drivers who couldn't handle losing with grace.
Philippe extended his hand. "That was incredible racing. You earned it. Congratulations, champion."
I shook his hand, respect flowing both ways. "You pushed me every lap. Thank you."
"You're going to be something special in a few years. When you're my age, when you're bigger and stronger?" He smiled. "You're going to be unstoppable."
"You're only ten. You've got years ahead too."
"True. Maybe we'll race again someday. At a higher level."
"I'd like that."
It was everything rivalry should be. Competition without animosity. Respect despite disappointment. The acknowledgment that we'd both pushed each other to be better.
[Respect Earned: Philippe Durand]
[Relationship Status: Honorable Rival]
[Future Potential: Possible teammate or competitor at higher levels]
[This is what racing should be. Remember this feeling.]
The podium ceremony was surreal. I stood on the top step, Philippe on the second, another driver on the third. The championship trophy was almost as big as me, heavy enough that I had to hold it with both hands.
When they played the anthem and I stood there holding the trophy, surrounded by applause, I had a moment of perfect clarity.
This was what I'd been given a second chance for. Not just to prove I could race, but to experience these moments, to feel what it meant to achieve something through genuine effort and dedication.
In my previous life, I'd watched podium ceremonies on screens, critiqued celebrations, dismissed achievements as products of advantage rather than talent.
Now I understood. Standing on that podium wasn't just about the trophy or the title. It was about the journey, the struggles, the growth, the people who'd supported you along the way.
It was about becoming someone who deserved to be there.
Chloe somehow made it onto the podium area, ignoring the officials trying to maintain protocol. She hugged me, banner and all, nearly knocking me over.
"I told you!" she said. "I told you you'd be champion!"
"You did tell me."
"Does this mean you're going to get more trophies? Because I'm running out of room on my shelf for the ones you keep giving me."
I'd been giving Chloe every trophy I won, letting her display them in her room. She'd insisted on it, said champions didn't need to show off their own trophies because their racing spoke for itself.
"Probably going to be a lot more trophies," I admitted.
"Good. I'll get a bigger shelf."
That evening, the family celebration was subdued compared to what I'd expected. Lawrence had offered to throw a big party, invite everyone, make a production of it. But I'd asked for something quieter.
We went to Chef Beaumont's restaurant. He'd closed it to the public for the evening, just for us. The dining room was decorated simply, just a congratulations banner and some balloons, nothing excessive.
"A champion deserves a championship meal," Chef Beaumont declared, bringing out courses he'd prepared specifically for the occasion.
Each dish was perfect, technique flawless, presentations beautiful. But more than that, each dish told a story. The first course represented beginnings, simple ingredients executed perfectly. The second course was about complexity, multiple elements working in harmony. The third course was about boldness, unexpected flavor combinations that shouldn't work but did.
"This is how I see your journey," Chef Beaumont explained between courses. "Started simple, grew complex, became bold. Each phase necessary, each phase building to the next."
"It's beautiful," Claire said, tasting the main course. "All of it. The food, the symbolism, the celebration."
"Lance has a gift," Chef Beaumont said. "Multiple gifts. Racing, cooking, understanding. He reminds me that excellence isn't about age or experience. It's about dedication, passion, and willingness to learn."
After dinner, as we were preparing to leave, Chef Beaumont pulled me aside.
"I have something for you," he said, handing me a white chef's jacket, properly sized for me, with my name embroidered on it. "You've earned this. You're not just a student anymore. You're a chef. Young, still learning, but a chef nonetheless."
I held the jacket, feeling the weight of recognition, the significance of acceptance into his world.
"Thank you. For everything. The lessons, the patience, the mentorship."
"It's been my privilege. You remind me why I fell in love with cooking in the first place. The pure joy of creation, of mastery, of sharing something beautiful with others." He smiled. "Now you have two worlds you belong to. Racing and cooking. Don't forget either one."
"I won't. Racing is my career, but cooking is my art."
"Good answer. Now go home, champion. Rest. Celebrate. And when you're ready, come back to my kitchen. We still have much to teach each other."
[Achievement Unlocked: Professional Recognition]
[Chef's Jacket: Obtained]
[Status in Culinary World: Recognized talent]
[Balance: Maintained between racing and cooking]
[Note: You're building a unique identity. Racing driver who cooks. This will matter later.]
The next few days were a whirlwind of attention I wasn't fully prepared for. Local newspapers ran stories. Racing publications wrote features. A few national outlets even picked up the story of the seven-year-old championship winner.
"Youngest Junior Champion in Series History"
"Stroll Dominates Against Older Competition"
"Racing Prodigy or Privilege? The Lance Stroll Story"
The last headline came from a sports website known for controversial takes. The article acknowledged my championship but questioned whether it was genuine achievement or just the result of better equipment, private coaching, and wealthy family advantages.
It stung more than I wanted to admit.
Lawrence noticed me reading it during breakfast a few days after the championship.
"Ignore that," he said, taking the laptop away. "People will always question success. That's the nature of competitive sports, especially when the competitor is young and has resources."
"But they're right, aren't they? I do have advantages. Private coaching, good equipment, time to train that other kids don't have."
"You do have advantages. But advantages don't drive the kart. You drive the kart. You make the decisions, execute the passes, manage the races. The equipment and coaching give you opportunities, but you're the one who capitalizes on them."
"How do I prove that to people who think it's all just money?"
Lawrence smiled. "You keep winning. You move up to higher levels where everyone has similar advantages, and you keep beating them. Eventually, the results speak louder than the doubters."
"What if I can't? What if the doubters are right?"
"Then you learn from it and grow. But Lance, I've watched you race for three years now. I've seen you improve, adapt, overcome challenges. That's not money or equipment. That's you." He put a hand on my shoulder. "Trust yourself. I do."
[System Note: The criticism will never stop. Get used to it.]
[In your previous life, you were the critic. Now you understand what it feels like.]
[Use that understanding. Be better than you were. Be kinder. Be more thoughtful.]
[But also... prove them wrong. Not through words, but through continued achievement.]
[Current Status: Junior Champion, Age 7]
[Next Level: Senior Karting Classes]
[Timeline: 1-2 years to prepare for transition]
[Long-term Goal: Still F1, still on track]
Marc had already started planning the next phase. The junior championship was done, but I was only seven. Too young for most senior karting classes, too small for the bigger, more powerful karts.
"We need patience now," Marc explained during our first post-championship meeting. "You've proven yourself at this level. But jumping too quickly to the next level before you're physically ready could hurt your development."
"So what do we do? Just keep racing junior class?"
"No. We race, but we also prepare. Strength training, conditioning, technical education. We build you up over the next year or two so when you do move up, you're ready to compete immediately."
Lawrence had his own thoughts. "I've been talking to people in the industry. Regional championships, national series, international competitions. There are pathways we should consider, opportunities to race at higher levels even within junior categories."
"International?" That caught my attention.
"European championships. Some of the best young drivers in the world compete there. Better competition means faster improvement." Lawrence pulled out some materials he'd gathered. "Obviously, it would mean travel. Time away from school, from home. We'd need to balance it carefully."
"I can handle it," I said immediately.
"You're seven," Claire interjected. She'd been quiet during the discussion, but now her concerns came through. "You're still a child, Lance. School matters. Friends matter. Normal childhood experiences matter."
"I know, Mama. But this is my dream. This is what I want to do."
"I understand that. But dreams shouldn't consume everything else. There has to be balance."
She wasn't wrong. I'd been so focused on racing, on training, on improvement, that I hadn't spent much time just being a kid. I had friends at school, but I rarely saw them outside class. I had hobbies beyond racing and cooking, but I barely engaged with them.
"What if we compromise?" Lawrence suggested. "Local and regional racing for the next season, giving Lance time to grow physically. Then we consider international competition the following year if he's ready and still wants to pursue it."
"And school stays the priority," Claire added firmly. "Racing is important, but education is non-negotiable."
"Agreed," I said, because it was a fair compromise and because Claire's mom-voice had reached the level where arguing was pointless.
[Development Plan: Ages 7-8]
[Focus: Physical development, continued local/regional racing, education, maintaining childhood balance]
[Racing Schedule: One season regional championship, select national events]
[Training: Intensified but age-appropriate]
[School: Full-time attendance, good grades required]
[Social Life: Encouraged to maintain friendships, engage in non-racing activities]
[Cooking: Continue weekly sessions with Chef Beaumont]
[Goal: Become as well-rounded as possible while still pursuing racing excellence]
School the following week was strange. Everyone knew about the championship. Teachers congratulated me, students asked questions, some I'd barely talked to suddenly wanted to be friends.
I'd become "Lance the Champion" instead of just "Lance."
It was during lunch that I met someone who'd become unexpectedly important to my childhood. A kid named Marcus, eight years old, who sat down across from me in the cafeteria uninvited.
"You're the racing kid, right?" he said, unwrapping his sandwich.
"Yeah."
"Cool. I don't know anything about racing, but I heard you won something big."
"Championship. Junior class."
"Nice." He took a bite of his sandwich, seemingly unimpressed by my achievement. "I like video games. Do you play video games or just race in real life?"
The question caught me off guard. Most people wanted to talk about racing. Marcus seemed more interested in whether I was normal.
"I play sometimes. Not as much as I used to."
"Want to come over this weekend? My brother just got the new Mario Kart game. We could play."
It was such a simple invitation, but it felt significant. Someone wanting to be my friend for reasons unrelated to racing, unrelated to my championship, unrelated to anything except just wanting to play video games.
"I'd like that," I said.
"Cool. I'll get my mom to call your mom." Marcus finished his sandwich, then added, "Fair warning though, I'm really good at Mario Kart. Like, beat-my-older-brother good. You might be a champion in real racing, but in video game racing, you're going down."
I grinned. "We'll see about that."
[New Friendship Established: Marcus Chen]
[Significance: Normal kid friendship, no connection to racing]
[Value: Grounding, perspective, childhood normalcy]
[Note: This is what Claire was worried about. You need friends who don't care about your achievements.]
That Saturday, I went to Marcus's house and got absolutely destroyed at Mario Kart. He wasn't joking about being good. His older brother, David, was even better.
We spent hours playing, trading the controller around, talking trash, laughing when someone got hit by a blue shell at the worst possible moment. It was the most fun I'd had in months that didn't involve racing or cooking.
"You're really bad at this," Marcus observed after I finished seventh in another race.
"I'm learning," I protested.
"Learning to lose, maybe," David added with a grin.
"Real racing is different. In real racing, there are no blue shells that come out of nowhere to ruin your race."
"Real racing sounds boring then," Marcus said. "Where's the chaos? Where's the randomness?"
"Real racing is about skill and consistency, not chaos."
"See, that's your problem. You take racing too seriously. It's supposed to be fun."
And maybe he had a point. I'd been treating racing as a mission, a purpose, something to prove myself with. When had I last raced just for the pure joy of it?
[System Note: Kid's got wisdom beyond his years.]
[Racing is supposed to be fun. You've turned it into work, into validation, into proof.]
[Remember why you loved racing in the first place. The joy, the thrill, the freedom.]
[Don't lose that in pursuit of achievements.]
The next season started in spring, and I was racing in a regional championship that included tracks across Quebec and neighboring provinces. Better competition, more travel, higher stakes.
But I'd also made commitments to myself and my family. Maintain friendships. Keep up with school. Balance racing with being a kid.
Marcus started coming to some of my races, bringing a completely different energy than other spectators. While parents and coaches were analyzing racing lines and strategies, Marcus was just there to watch his friend drive fast cars.
"That looked cool," he'd say after a race where I'd fought hard for third place.
"I should have done better. Made mistakes in sector two."
"Okay, but it still looked cool. You were going really fast and turning really hard and not crashing. That's impressive."
It was refreshing, his perspective. Uncomplicated appreciation for the spectacle without the critical analysis.
The regional season went well. I won six races out of twelve, finished second in the championship behind a nine-year-old who'd been racing for five years. It was a good result, competitive racing, continued development.
But more importantly, I'd maintained balance. Kept my grades up at school. Spent time with Marcus and other friends. Continued cooking with Chef Beaumont. Stayed close with my family.
Chloe had started keeping a scrapbook of my racing career, filling it with photos, race results, newspaper clippings, and her own commentary.
"This is for when you're famous," she explained, showing me her work. "So people can see how you got there. All the steps, not just the destination."
"What if I don't get famous? What if I just stay a regional karting driver?"
She looked at me like I'd said something ridiculous. "Then it's a scrapbook of your regional karting career. It's still your story, Lance. Famous or not, it matters."
Eight years old, and my sister understood something I was still learning. The journey mattered as much as the destination. Maybe more.
[Age 7-8: Year in Review]
[Racing: Regional championship 2nd place, continued development, maintained competitive edge]
[Physical: Growing well, strength increasing, stamina improving]
[Mental: Better balance, improved perspective, maintained passion while reducing pressure]
[Social: Developed meaningful friendships outside racing, maintained family bonds]
[Academic: Strong grades, no concerns]
[Culinary: Continued advancement, earned respect in professional kitchen]
[Overall Assessment: Balanced growth, not just as a driver but as a person]
[Next Phase: Age 8-10, preparing for transition to senior karting and international competition]
[Status: Still on track for long-term goals, but taking the journey seriously rather than rushing]
As my eighth birthday approached, Lawrence sat me down for what he called a "future planning conversation."
"You've accomplished a lot in three years of racing," he began. "Junior champion, regional podiums, consistent results. You've proven you can compete."
"But?"
"No but. Just a question. How far do you want to take this? Regional racing is one thing. National championship is another. International competition is beyond that. And then there's the eventual goal of Formula 1."
"I want to go all the way," I said without hesitation. "F1. That's always been the goal."
Lawrence nodded. "Then we need to start planning seriously. F1 drivers don't appear out of nowhere. They come through development systems, academy programs, junior categories. The path starts now, at eight years old, and it takes a decade or more."
"I'm ready."
"Are you? Because it gets harder from here. More travel, more pressure, more competition. You'll miss birthday parties, school events, normal childhood things. Is that a sacrifice you're willing to make?"
I thought about Marcus, about playing Mario Kart and just being a kid. I thought about Chloe's scrapbook, about the journey mattering as much as destination. I thought about Claire's concerns about balance and normalcy.
But I also thought about crossing the finish line as champion. About the pure joy of perfect driving. About the dream I'd carried from my previous life into this one.
"I'm willing," I said. "But I want to do it right. Not just focusing on racing to the exclusion of everything else. I want to be a person who races, not just a racing driver who happens to be a person."
Lawrence smiled, clearly pleased with the answer. "Then let's build a plan. A real plan, for the next ten years. Karting progression, school arrangements, international competition, eventual transition to cars. All of it."
"What about cooking? I don't want to stop that."
"Cooking stays. It's part of who you are now. Racing driver who's also a chef. That's your identity, Lance. We're not changing it."
[Long-term Development Plan: Established]
[Ages 8-10: Senior karting, regional to national to international competition]
[Ages 10-13: International karting, begin junior formula transition planning]
[Ages 13-14: Formula 4 debut]
[Ages 15-16: Formula 3]
[Ages 17-18: Formula 2]
[Age 19+: Formula 1 target]
[Parallel Track: Maintain education, cooking development, personal growth]
[Mission: Become the complete package, not just a fast driver]
That night, I lay in bed thinking about the path ahead. Ten years to Formula 1. Ten years of racing, training, improving, competing. It seemed both incredibly long and impossibly short.
In my previous life, I'd wasted ten years achieving nothing of value. In this life, I'd use those same ten years to achieve everything I'd claimed I could do.
The junior championship at seven was just the beginning. The first real milestone, but not the destination.
There was so much more ahead. Harder competition, bigger challenges, higher stakes. International karting against the best young drivers in the world. Eventually Formula 4, Formula 3, Formula 2.
And finally, if everything went right, if I kept improving, if I proved myself at every level, Formula 1.
The dream that had consumed my previous life, now becoming the reality of this one.
[Chapter 8 Complete]
[Age: 8 years old]
[Achievement: Junior Champion, continued development, balanced growth]
[Status: Path established, committed to journey]
[Next Phase: Serious preparation for international competition]
[Mission Progress: Significant]
[You claimed you could do it given the opportunities. Now you're proving it, step by step, race by race.]
[Keep going.]
To be continued...
Author's Note: Chapter 8 resolves the championship battle with Lance winning both the race and title at age 7, then explores the aftermath including recognition, criticism, celebration, and planning for the future. The chapter establishes balance in his life with new friendships, continued family bonds, and a long-term plan toward F1. Next chapters will cover ages 8-10 and the progression toward international competition, increased challenges, and continued character development. We're building toward the transition from karting to cars.