Three weeks after Silverstone, the F3 circus moved to the Red Bull Ring in Austria. The track was fast, flowing, rewarding commitment and bravery—qualities I'd been building since Monza.
Between Silverstone and Austria, there'd been two races. At the Norisring in Germany, I'd qualified eighth and finished fifth, scoring ten points. A solid result but nothing spectacular. At Zandvoort, I'd qualified seventh but got caught up in someone else's first-lap incident—DNF through no fault of my own.
The DNF was frustrating but different from Monza. I hadn't been leading. It wasn't a mechanical failure. Just racing luck, the kind that evens out over a season.
"You're handling setbacks better," Dr. Renaud observed during a phone session before Austria. "The Zandvoort DNF didn't devastate you like Monza did."
"Because I wasn't winning when it happened. Easier to accept bad luck from mid-pack than from the lead."
"True. But also you're learning that not every setback is catastrophic. Sometimes racing is just... racing."
[Mental development: Perspective improving]
[Resilience building through experience]
[Current points balance: 91 after five and DNF]
The week before Austria, I spent time cooking. Not from stress, but from enjoyment. Made fresh pasta from scratch—learning to feel when the dough had the right texture, understanding how egg ratio affected consistency.
Chloe watched via video call, doing her homework while I worked. "You really enjoy this, don't you? It's not just stress relief."
"I do. There's something satisfying about taking raw ingredients and creating something good through technique and attention."
"Same as racing?"
"Sort of. But cooking is more forgiving. If you make a mistake, you can adjust. Racing mistakes at 150 mph don't let you adjust."
"That's why you like both. Racing is high-stakes precision. Cooking is creative precision. You need both."
My sister was getting too wise for thirteen years old.
[Cooking: Genuine passion, not just therapy]
[Balance between high-stakes and creative pursuits]
[Family understanding his needs]
Austria testing went exceptionally well. The track suited my smooth style—fast corners where consistency mattered more than raw aggression. The Prema setup felt perfect from the first session.
Thursday practice, I was third-fastest. Friday practice, second-fastest behind George Russell. The car and I were working in harmony.
Thomas noticed it too. "Your confidence is back. Not just from Silverstone, but deeper. You're driving like someone who belongs here."
"I do belong here."
"Yes. But now you believe it. That makes all the difference."
[Confidence: Transformed]
[Self-belief crucial for performance]
[Ready for breakthrough]
Saturday qualifying was where everything came together. The morning session had gone well, putting me provisionally third. But the afternoon session, where pole position would be decided, was what mattered.
My first flying lap was clean—1:24.8, good enough for P4 temporarily. George went faster, posting 1:24.3. Louis Delétraz found 1:24.6 for second.
I had one more lap. One chance to improve.
Out lap was perfect, tires at optimal temperature. Approaching turn one, I cleared my mind. Just the track, the car, the lap. Nothing else existed.
[Racecraft Genius: Activated]
[Perfect Instinct: Guiding inputs]
[Consistency Master: Ensuring precision]
Turn one—perfect apex, ideal exit speed. Through turns two and three—flowing like water, no wasted movement. Into the fast section—commitment absolute, trusting the downforce, carrying speed others couldn't.
Every corner felt inevitable, like the car was on rails. This was what racing should feel like—not fighting, just flowing.
Crossed the line. The time flashed: 1:24.1
[POLE POSITION]
[First F3 pole]
[Beat George Russell by 0.2 seconds]
The radio erupted. Thomas shouting, Prema team celebrating, even normally composed René Rosin sounding excited.
"Pole position! Lance, that was an incredible lap! P1!"
I keyed the radio, barely trusting my voice. "We did it?"
"You did it. That was perfection."
[Emotional: Overwhelming]
[Validation: Complete]
[Proof of capability]
In parc fermé, George approached first. "Brilliant lap. You absolutely earned that pole."
"Thank you. I still can't believe I beat your time."
"Believe it. That was world-class driving." He smiled. "Now you have to convert it to a win tomorrow. Pole means nothing without the victory."
"I know."
"Don't race scared. You deserve to be on pole. Race like it."
[George Russell: Gracious and supportive]
[Acknowledging performance honestly]
[This is what respect looks like]
Lando qualified fifth, Raffaele seventh. After qualifying, Lando found me in the garage.
"Pole position. That's massive."
"Thanks. Feels surreal."
"You were fast all weekend. This wasn't luck—this was speed." He paused. "Tomorrow's race is going to be intense. George will attack hard. I'll attack hard. Everyone will want to beat the pole sitter."
"I know."
"Good. Just making sure you're ready for it. This is different from starting mid-pack."
[Lando: Honest about tomorrow's challenge]
[No sugar-coating competition]
[But underlying support present]
That evening, I couldn't cook—too wired, too excited. Tried to eat dinner with Lawrence and Claire but could barely sit still.
"You need to rest," Claire said, watching me pace. "Big race tomorrow."
"I know. I just... I'm on pole. Actual pole position. In Formula 3."
"You deserve it," Lawrence said. "You've worked incredibly hard. The pole proves you belong at this level."
"But now I have to win. Pole doesn't mean anything if I don't convert it."
"Then convert it. But also remember—even if you don't win tomorrow, you've already proven something today. You beat George Russell in qualifying. That's not nothing."
[Family support: Grounding]
[Managing expectations]
[Tomorrow still has to be raced]
I barely slept. Lay in bed replaying the qualifying lap, then mentally rehearsing the race. Start procedure, turn one, defending against George, tire management, race pace.
The System chimed in quietly.
[You're overthinking]
[The race will be what it will be]
[You've prepared. You have the skills. You have the speed.]
[Now you just need to execute]
[Sleep. You need rest more than mental rehearsal]
Eventually, exhaustion took over. Slept for maybe four hours, but it was something.
Race morning brought perfect weather—sunny, warm, light wind. Ideal racing conditions. No variables to complicate things, just pure racing.
The grid formed. Pole position felt different—everyone behind you, everyone hunting you. The pressure was different from starting mid-pack where you could hide in the chaos.
George lined up beside me in P2. Louis P3, Alex Albon P4, Lando P5, Raffaele P7.
In the final minutes before the formation lap, Thomas's voice came through the radio.
"Lance. You've earned this position. Drive your race. Trust yourself. We believe in you."
"Copy."
"One more thing—enjoy it. This is what you've worked for. Remember to enjoy the moment."
[Pre-race: Nervous but ready]
[Team support: Complete]
[Moment of truth approaching]
Formation lap complete. Grid positions confirmed. Heart pounding so hard I could hear it over the engine.
Lights sequence starting. Five red lights appearing one by one.
Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
All five red lights glowing.
[This is it]
[Everything on the line]
[Win from pole or lose everything]
My hands were steady on the wheel. Mental Fortress keeping panic controlled. Race Start Mastery preparing optimal launch. Every skill I possessed ready to activate.
Lights out.
Perfect start. Nailed the clutch release, optimal wheelspin, maximum acceleration. George got a good start too but I held the inside line into turn one.
Maintained the lead. Through turn one, through turn two, establishing position.
[Lap 1: Leading]
[From pole, holding first]
[This is happening]
George was right behind, half a second back. Behind him, Louis and Alex were fighting for third. But the front two had pulled a gap—this was a two-driver race for victory.
My pace was strong. Consistent laps in the 1:25s, fast enough to prevent George from getting DRS. But not so fast that I was burning tires unnecessarily.
[Lap 5: Leading by 0.6 seconds]
[Tire management: Optimal]
[George pressuring but not close enough]
Lap seven, George found extra pace. Closed the gap to 0.3 seconds. Now he was in DRS range, able to use the extra speed on the main straight.
Lap eight, he attacked into turn three. I defended, positioning my car to close off the inside. He backed out, stayed close.
Lap nine, he tried again at turn four. Same result—perfect defense, no space left.
[Defending while leading: New experience]
[George relentless but I'm holding]
[Fifteen laps remaining]
My Race Intelligence was calculating constantly. George's tires were working harder from following in dirty air and making attack attempts. Mine were managing better leading in clean air.
If I could hold him for five more laps, his tires would start fading. Then I could manage the gap more comfortably.
Lap thirteen, George's pressure eased slightly. Gap extended from 0.3 to 0.5 seconds. My calculation was correct—his tires were starting to give up.
[Lap 15: Leading by 0.8 seconds]
[George's pace dropping]
[Tire advantage: Mine]
[Ten laps remaining to first win]
The next five laps were about maintaining perfection. Every corner hit precisely, every braking point optimal, every acceleration perfectly judged. My Consistency Master was working overtime, keeping lap times identical within hundredths of seconds.
George was still there, still pushing, but no longer threatening to pass. He was fighting for the position, I was managing the race.
[Lap 20: Five laps remaining]
[Leading by 1.1 seconds]
[Win within reach]
The final five laps felt like fifty. Every corner could be where something went wrong. Every straight could be where mechanical failure struck. Monza's ghost haunted every lap.
But nothing went wrong. The car was perfect. My driving was perfect. George was fast but not fast enough.
Four laps. Three laps. Two laps.
Final lap. Into turn one for the last time leading a race. Through turn three where George had attacked earlier. Into the fast section one final time.
Across the line.
[VICTORY]
[FIRST F3 WIN]
[From pole to victory]
[Age: 14 years old]
[Points Earned: 25]
[Current Balance: 116 points]
The emotion hit immediately. Relief, joy, disbelief, validation—everything at once. I'd done it. Actually won. Not through others' mistakes, not through luck, but through pace and racecraft.
The radio exploded with celebration. Thomas shouting congratulations, the entire Prema team cheering, René's voice proud and excited.
"VICTORY! Lance, you won! You did it!"
I could barely speak. "We won?"
"You won. From pole to flag. Dominant. That was champion driving."
[Emotional release: Massive]
[Validation after all the heartbreak]
[Proof of belonging]
To be continued...