150 km/h to Finding Myself

From G-forces to Anti-gravity — My Own Little F1 Movie

A Day Like No Other

Yesterday was extraordinary. A Sunday unlike any other—adrenaline-fueled, dopamine-laced, pure ecstasy on four wheels. I suspect I’ll soon need another fix. But before you come blazing at me with guns drawn, let me clarify: I’m talking about my day on the racetrack. Encouraged by my twelve-year-old son and my husband, the one constant in my ever-changing life.

The Journey Begins

It was a cold, wintry day. The sky was a wash of grey, and a gentle breeze threaded through the trees. I knew it would be a long day; the racing track was quite a distance from home. Honestly, I would have preferred to stay back—pottering around the house, relaxing with a book and a cup of coffee, or simply being a couch potato, binge-watching the latest crime series on Netflix. But fate had other plans for me, and I decided to go along for the ride.

I climbed into my SUV, channeling my inner Bollywood cop, complete with Ray-Bans. My son rolled his eyes, his expression practically screaming, “Mom, you need to pipe down.”

Off we went, listening to some cool tracks. Our heads bobbed along, held by that muted joy that comes from stumbling upon ancient wisdom.

Entering the Track

As I entered the track, I was greeted by the purring of engines and the squealing of tires—each sound a single, electrifying note of power, physics, and poise. It felt otherworldly. I wondered what an actual F1 race would be like and immediately added it to my bucket list: one of the top ten things to do before the day of reckoning.

The acrid smell of burnt rubber hung in the air, but it did little to dampen spirits. There was camaraderie everywhere. The snazziest cars were out in full glory—Ferraris, Porsches, BMWs—rubbing shoulders with us petrol-heads. I stood there gawking alongside my son at these gleaming machines, the inner child in me yearning to clamber into one and drive straight off into the horizon.

The Thrill of Karting

Quickly snapping out of my reverie, I signed up for some warm-up karting laps. Soon, my shoulders burned, my quads quaked, and my hamstrings protested. It was exciting—exhilarating. Each corner demanded tactical judgment; the slightest error could spin you off the track and straight into trouble.

As I hit the track in my shiny ride, with my husband by my side, I felt like I had stepped into a dream I never wanted to end. The speed dial swung furiously past 150. The world around us blurred into nothingness—it was the witching hour for me. Sequestered inside a helmet, with G-forces hemming me in, I felt stifled and uncomfortable at first. The nerves kicked in—this was my first attempt at driving a sports car, and on a track with other cars flying past, their cloudy silhouettes dissolving in the blink of an eye.

A Moment of Gratitude

Grateful to the universe, to a higher power, and to my endlessly patient family, I felt infinitely enriched. I had never felt more alive. Every cell in my body seemed to awaken, my breath falling into rhythm with my heartbeat. I craved more—wanting more from life, unwilling to settle. Isn’t it strange how realizations arrive in the most unplanned moments? That sudden knowing that age is irrelevant, that one can hit the pause button on mediocrity and dull routines and begin anew.

I’m not suggesting that one become an F1 driver or jettison responsibilities. Rather, I mean doing something in addition—something that reminds you that you are alive. Yes, labels will come when you try to break away from the commonplace—boomer, aunty on steroids, wannabe—but none of it matters. It’s your life, and you get to live it your way.

Finding My Spark

For someone who was once diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder, this felt like coming home—like true calm, true grounding. I met fantastic people yesterday, bonding over our mutual fascination for cars and everything that surrounds them. It was truly an immersive and humbling experience.

A banner hung above the track read: Do the race your way. And that is exactly what I intend to do. I am not competing with anyone but the earlier versions of myself. Whether as a mother, a wife, a sister, a friend—or more recently, the founder of my cleaning brand, Green Molecule—I hope to imbue each role with the magical spark I felt on the track, and to do it entirely my way.

Reflections on My F1 Movie

In hindsight, it really was my own little F1 movie—a day that hurled me from G-forces to anti-gravity, leaving me changed in ways I never expected. Somewhere between the roar of the engine and the stillness within, I found my way home.

Molecularly Yours,

Sanjana

Curiously Irrepressible

First dreamer. Accidental chemist. Green Molecule - Clean Confidently.

A Personal Note

P.S.: This is simply my personal experience and not a prescription for anyone else. We all find our spark in different ways—to each his, her, or their own. This is not a roadmap at all, just something that worked for me.

https://www.molecularlyme.blog/post/what-i-build-when-no-one-s-watching

"To borrow from Roosevelt’s timeless words — you become the man in the arena, bloodied and bruised, yet standing tall after every fall."

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