Formula 1: The Sound of a Heart at Full Speed 🏎️

Being at a single  Formula 1 race was like being at them all. I immediately felt at home. As soon as we arrived at the venue, without even seeing it, I could already hear F2 racing , and it was the sound that made my dream come true. A sound I'd waited for for many years. I didn't feel goosebumps or histrionic excitement, but instead a profound calm. So much so that after the tenth lap, I fell asleep for a moment, wrapped in a deep, serene calm: the calm of knowing I had achieved it.

Flashback: First, the Trauma

On February 4, 1994, I went with my mom to get her hair removed. I didn't want to stay at the villa with my siblings and grandparents. My 5th birthday was ten days away. It was my chance to be alone with Mom. With Mom, Dad, and a couple of friends: Marta and Juan Carlos. We went to downtown Pilar. The women went to Mónica Brenta, and the men went to the supermarket.

On the way back, a rastrojero—a battered old pickup truck— (a word I first heard that day and only ever again in reference to it) crossed the wrong way, straight in front of us. My dad flashed his lights, swore, and finally ended up on the shoulder of the road where he collided with this wrecked pickup truck that was just taking a shortcut home.

I don't remember much: I do remember Juan Carlos, Dad's friend, bending down to change the CD that was playing, his nose in his hand after the rearview mirror hit his face; I do remember Marta's screams, trapped in the car because she was on crutches. I remember the pain of the blow to the chest from my dad's arm, which stopped me from flying away (there were no seatbelts for children, nor were car seats used); the smell of gasoline (which I hate); the woman in a muscle shirt with short hair who gave me Villavicencio water (which I love); the round orange lollipop in a square, transparent wrapper they gave me at the health center; the milkshakes (which I hate) that tasted like gasoline because my dad wouldn't throw away his groceries from the supermarket. And I don't remember seeing my mom. Or the return to the villa. Or the days that followed.

Yes, I do remember something that happened almost three months after my accident: I watched the San Marino Formula 1 Grand Prix at Imola . I think it was already daylight. When we watched races in the early morning, my dad would wake me up and lend me his headphones. We watched them like that so as not to wake anyone up. I remember how nervous I felt watching the crash, how I insisted on knowing what had happened without being able to ask about death. I remember my old man telling me, "I don't know, I don't know, we'll have to wait. " I remember a helicopter, but not much else.

Somehow I linked my accident, which wasn't tragic—and which in my family remained as an ugly anecdote about a wrecked car—with Ayrton Senna 's , which was (something I would later learn), and that's why it's the first race I remember.

What followed Imola

After the tragedy, the Sunday ceremony began to generate a lot of tension in me. At the same time, I didn't want to miss it. Of course, I didn't understand the magnitude of what had happened until much later. I think it was when I was 8 years old when a dog from somewhere else came into the park on the fifth floor, wearing a badge that said Ayrton, and when we called to let them know he was home, Dad asked if it was because of Senna, and that day we talked a lot about Senna. about Brazil  and about when my grandparents went into exile there. And about the profession of my grandfather and his brothers, who were sports journalists, commentators of boxing, soccer, and, of course, motorsports . We talked about the trips Luis Elías Sojit took, accompanying Fangio first and then Reutemann .

So the ritual, which I thought was between father and daughters (because my younger sister also started to join in), became almost a duty to the family legacy. It was something that, in some way, ran in my blood. I never knew my grandfather or his brothers except through anecdotes told by others . I began to feel that watching and enjoying the races, like boxing matches, meant being a little closer to them. And it was also a way to get to know them and my story.

So, in addition to the races, I added qualifying, reading a book, afternoons playing Street Rod on PS1, F-1 Race , or Road Fighter on an emulator or console; and at Sacoa (a popular arcade center), Daytona . I chose a favorite team (Ferrari) and also, among the drivers, one I liked and another I admired. And little by little, the dream of seeing a race live took shape. Quite contrary to the comments made by my mom ("It's a crowded place, it's not a place for kids") and my dad, who had attended several ("There's a lot of noise, you miss everything, you don't understand what's going on, and if I'm lucky, you end up watching it on TV while standing up").

Silverstone, July 6, 2025

This year, 2025, marks the 75th anniversary of the launch of Formula 1 as we know it today. Silverstone is considered the birthplace of modern racing, hosting the first official F1championship organized by the International Automobile Federation . After World War II, the existing circuits had been destroyed, and this site, which was actually an airbase, was able to begin using it for racing.

The day after seeing Ozzy's farewell —his requiem for life rip <3—with emotion running through our bodies, little rest, and a whole lot of joy, we left Birmingham for Northampton . One of the train stations near Silverstone , where we took a bus to the circuit.

Huge crowds, mud, rain, sun, wind, chips, crowded and closed bathrooms, free water, ice cream, merch, merch, and more merch, Lego stands, hot dog stands, and British Air Force merchandise. Live music, camping tables, babies with giant noise canceling headphones for their little heads, old people with walkers, and regal ladies. It's a festival.

As soon as we arrived, we entered through the door right next to our seat and decided to take a walk around the circuit, but between the excitement and the rain, we played it safe: we visited some stalls, got some food, visited the bathroom, and settled in the stands. We had a seat at Luffield Corner , an incredible view and, as far as we knew, the hottest spot .

Almost all the Englishmen in the crowd were wearing either McLaren or Ferrari , and four drivers were at home: Hamilton , Norris , Russell , and Bearman . Only the first two received the public's blessing at the start, amidst cheers and applause. That's not counting the acclaimed workers who cleaned the track before the start in some super-friendly little trucks. The booing was reserved and exacerbated for the VIP spectators who paid to drive around the circuit in a truck like the one the drivers use for the pre-race parade.

Luffield Corner , located in the final sector before the main straight, is a long corner that allowed us to see the cars for a longer time. It's not the most technical part of the circuit, but it's very attractive, and despite the rain, it was beautiful to see the cars from there. In fact, we witnessed the most synchronized crash in F1 : the two Haas cars touched each other and spun on the wet track, which from our perspective looked like a single car.

And as if that weren't enough, we had the opportunity to experience a historic race. Sauber 's Nico Hülkenberg made the podium for the first time since he started racing in F1 , almost 15 years ago. For the team currently co-driven by Binotto ( Ferrari 's OG ) and Wheatley (formerly Red Bull ). An unforgettable triumph for the driver who started 19th, climbed 16 positions, and finished third. We all stood up to applaud him, shouting "Nico, Nico!" as if we'd been his fans all our lives. The celebration in the stands was the same as for the home team. Because what's being celebrated is the feat, beyond the colors.

One more turn (and another)

It's true that going to the track and watching a race isn't the same as the comfort of your living room. It's true that you can't hear a thing —nothing, because between the torrential rain, the duplicate sound from the screens, and the shouts, it's hard to understand what's going on. It's true that there's a lot of noise, a lot of people, and a lot of wind. It's true that you only see a small part of it. And it's also true that, like any other event in life, it's better to enjoy it in personthan to watch it on television.

The sound of the machine , the jokes from those sitting next to you, the cursing at the safety carto make it go away and bring back the excitement, the old man who was on the radio and asks you why you can't watch Colapinto —I love you Franco—the smell of fried chicken, the wind in your face, the applause from the crowd, the greetings from the drivers from the car to the stands where you're sitting, bursting with applause. All of that is better.

Having experienced it is a huge joy and also a vindication for the girl who wanted to study mechanics, the teenager who returned earlier from the disco to watch races , the Alonso fan , but also the Schumacher fan , the tifosa. I know it was the first of many. That there will be more to come. Because going only makes you want to come back.