For my 40^th birthday, I gave myself permission to loosen up a bit and live less inhibited.  I wasn’t sure how I was going to do that, but I made a decision to get out of my head and Live Out Loud.  I can honestly say that this decision had nothing to do with turning 40 – in fact; I had no emotion about the milestone birthday that throws many into a tizzy.  I was just tired of being so “reserved” and thinking everything through, turn by painstaking turn.  And for those that know me personally, know that I can talk myself in and out of almost anything – and in doing so, I miss a lot of just living … so I treated myself to as many ‘livin on the edge’ moments as I could find. Now, I can’t tell you each and every nutty thing I did to honor the commitment to myself – I will leave that for my girlfriends to giggle over for years to come, but I did tackle one thing on my very short bucket list … I raced a stock car at the renowned Irwindale Race Track in Los Angeles; the “crown jewel” as they say, of short track racing.

I am sure many of you have seen the Nascar Experience via Groupon or Screamin Coupons and thought nothing of it – but when I saw it, bells and whistles went off!  I snatched one up for me and begged my friends to join.  Not one agreed.  (Months later I purchased one for a man I was dating but when he dumped me, I immediately took it back and re-gifted it.  I may be an over-thinker, but I am no dummy!) It only took a full year for me to redeem the coupon and this would be how I would launch my way into 2013 and my 41^st year of being a kick ass woman.

After a full week of complete anxiety and apprehension, while simultaneously talking trash with my dear friend Renee’, who I roped into going, it was finally show time.  With my kid, my biggest fan, by my side – I was pumped and ready to go … on the outside.  Deep inside, I was a nervous wreck and I didn’t know why. My girlfriend and I sat in class, listening intently to instructions as to “what not to do” when behind the wheel of a car travelling at ridiculous speeds – and all I could focus on was knowing I didn’t want to puke on the dashboard.  I smiled nervously as the instructor told stories, I nodded my head like I understood the foreign language of racing, while continually wiping my sweaty palms on my pants until I left a weird pattern. I took lots of deep breaths to calm my 41-year-old nerves.  After 60 minutes of class, Renee’ and I would be the first of our group to brave the track.  No time to waste.

“PULL UP YOUR BIG GIRL PANTIES, GOLDMAN!”, I privately yelled.

The whole process was so surreal– one second, I was nibbling on grapes and chatting up the staff, the next I am looking like the Michelin man in my flame retardant suit, straining to hold up my head in the gigantic helmet, that prominently featured the name Simpson all over it (nothing like a name synonymous with “death” to rattle ones nerves), with foam plugs jammed in my ears to drowned out the extraneous noise (leaving me to listen to my own craziness) and a pit in my stomach that weighed me down like a ton of bricks. Next thing I know, I am being instructed to pull a “Dukes of Hazzard” maneuver (which I actually pulled off quite awesomely) into the race car that has nothing but a steel frame, surrounded by a bunch of levers and knobs and a camera to document the insanity.  They attach the steering wheel after I sit down, throw a few pillows under my tush and back so I can reach the throttle (oh yea, I said throttle!), belted me in tight and gave me a thumbs up.  “Ok car 7 – flick that, turn that, move that, press that and off you go.”  WTF?  Off I go??

But yes … off I went onto this magnificent open space that could potentially cause me great harm; but instead, I immediately felt totally at ease, despite having no idea what I was doing.  For a few seconds, I relished in the comfort of beautiful silence and embraced the complete rush of tremendous power that I had just assumed.  Peaceful.

The next 10 minutes or so, would be the most carefree I would be.  At the hands of a total stranger in my ear telling me what to do at every turn, my “spotter” (whom I would never meet), would guide me, protect me and challenge me through one of the scariest and most exhilarating events of my life.  Although we never locked eyes and he couldn’t hear my voice, he could feel my trepidation and excitement, and understood my unspoken wish to push myself beyond my comfort level.  With each corner I took, with every squeal and “oh shit” I uttered, the level of trust and pride I felt, overflowed like the falls of Niagra.

With 18 laps of pure adrenaline racing through my veins – the fulfillment of my wish to Live Out Loud, and FAST, was realized.

And as I look back on that day, I remembered something about myself that I am taking great strides to hold onto …. I can trust, I can let go, I can let others lead and I will be ok.  I can be slightly out of control, fearful and fearless and be empowered by it.  And I can listen to all the voices in my head and my heart and know exactly which one will lead me to greatness.