My stomach somersaults up my throat, almost bringing the Bojangle’s I had for lunch with it. I count as I breathe in slowly, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. I pause for a moment and count ten more seconds as I leisurely let it all back out. Repeat. My heart races faster than a NASCAR driver, practically pounding through my chest. No. Buts, I mentally remind myself. You can do this. You’ve made it this far. Show everyone what you’re made of. Prove it to yourself. No buts. Just believe.
     

I intertwine my fingers, realign my posture, and continue pacing my breaths evenly. Eyes closed, the vibrant red clay of the North Carolina track still taunts me with it’s intriguing beauty. I inhale again into the deepest corners of my lungs; potent race fuel and sticky summer air fill my body. The sun beats its fiery rays mercilessly down on the racers fully geared in staging. The riders sit anxiously on their four wheelers, waiting for their turn to ride, all sipping on brightly colored Gatorade and sweaty water bottles. Friends, family, and familiar faces walk by with cans in koozies, tire pressure gauges, shiny tools, and even some with greasy plates of food from the track vendor. The people that go by use different slang, with their own twangy accents. The sounds of their voices are as sweet as apple pie, begging for your attention. The rich smells, varying voices, body-piercing rev of engines, and the blistering sun are all so comforting for me. I feel at home- but I’m not. I’m 866 miles away from my physical home back in Vermont, but being at the race track has always felt like the one place I truly belong.
     

My brain refocuses on what I’m about to do. S***. I’m anxious as hell. I can’t deny that for a second. I’m about to face my biggest milestone in the last two years; I’m going to compete in my first race, since I was lucky enough to survive my last one. It was a typical sticky summer night in North Carolina, that Saturday the 13th of 2014, that my life changed in a matter of seconds. The weekend had gone great so far. My friends, father, and I had all been riding hard, and so far, we had been successful- we felt unstoppable.
     

I’d just won $50 in my first race of the evening for being the fastest one off the line and leading the start of the Women’s class race. When the start light of my last race turned green, we took off faster than a strike of lightning. The two rows of 17 quads stormed from the white starting lines on the vibrant red clay. Coming from the back row, I pulled myself into fourth place as we turned into the first left corner. It’d been a matter of mere seconds when someone else from the back had gotten loose, after the guy beside him bumped him off the start. The guy that’d been bumped shot 90-degrees to the right, and t-boned me on my left side. My quad rolled one way, while I tumbled, seemingly lifeless, down the track. My friend even described me as looking like wet noodles. The race was stopped instantly, and my father found me seizing for over five minutes when he got to me.
     

After a half hour waiting for an ambulance, and a late night spent at the hospital, I was lucky enough to walk away with “just” a concussion… but it wasn’t as simple as everyone hoped. I had to miss almost my entire sophomore year because of my injury. I lost the ability to read and have my eyes track fluently. Unable to see clearly around me, my tunnel vision closed off my surroundings. I couldn’t remember anything for even a couple of seconds, which prevented me from engaging in basic conversation. I lost myself. I lost everything I’d ever known about myself, and I lost my chance at being a “normal” teenager.
   

 Instead, I have worked diligently to improve myself. I am finally back in school full-time. I can read, write, have intellectual conversation with others, and remember things all on my own. I don’t get so sick just looking around me, and I have been cleared by the hospital that I am finally well enough to get my long-awaited driver’s license. I’ve made progress.
     

However, I’m not a normal teenager. I’ve lived through truly devastating events these last two years, but it’s made me immensely stronger. Knowing everything I’ve gone through, I know I can do this. I. Can. Do. This. I’ve taught myself how to work hard, how to truly earn success. I know how to make my dreams reality. This is no longer going to be a dream for me, I am going to go out on that track, and own every second. There is no doubt I am anxious to go back out, knowing everything I’ve learned now, but I still can’t wait to race once again. like one of my favorite guidance counselors I was lucky enough to have told me, “no buts.” I’m not allowed  to question decisions asking, “but what if...” or “but then…” because I know better than that. Confidence is what it takes to bring success. I just have to fully believe in myself.
   

 Butterflies flutter from my stomach, snatch up my heart, and soar to my throat. I think to myself again and again no buts, and line up between my best friends on the starting line. The quads roar with excitement around me, with seconds until the light will turn green- adrenaline rush- I am ready.