The thing about being a four-year-old racing prodigy is that nobody quite knows what to do with you.
Marc had recommended a training program, but when Lawrence called to inquire, the program director had laughed—actually laughed—and said their minimum age was seven. When Lawrence explained that his four-year-old son had run lap times comparable to their eight-year-old students on his first try, the laughter stopped, but the answer remained no.
"Insurance liability," the director had explained apologetically. "We simply can't take children that young, regardless of talent. I'm sorry."
So Lawrence did what wealthy people do when they encounter obstacles: he went around them.
Within two weeks, he'd hired Marc privately, purchased a proper racing kart (electric, but more advanced than the kiddie kart I'd used), and arranged access to a private track three times a week. He'd also consulted with doctors, physical therapists, and child development specialists to ensure the training wouldn't harm my still-growing body.
"If we're doing this," he told Claire over dinner one night, "we're doing it right. Safe, professional, age-appropriate."
"Age-appropriate," Claire repeated, her tone suggesting she found the concept debatable. "He's four, Lawrence. Four-year-olds should be playing with toys, not racing karts."
"He is playing with toys," Lawrence countered. "The toy just happens to have wheels and go very fast."
I watched this exchange while eating the coq au vin I'd helped prepare earlier—my version, not Claire's, with proper technique and the right wine. The irony of discussing what was age-appropriate while a preschooler ate his own restaurant-quality cooking was not lost on me.
[System Note: Your life is objectively absurd.]
[Four years old. Racing karts. Cooking like a Michelin-star chef. Adult consciousness trapped in a child's body.]
[If someone wrote this as fiction, readers would call it unrealistic.]
[Yet here we are.]
[Training Schedule Uploaded:]
Monday, Wednesday, Friday: Karting practice (2 hours) Tuesday, Thursday: Physical conditioning (1 hour) Saturday: Race simulation and video analysis Sunday: Rest day (family time)
[Academic Schedule:]
Daily: Basic education (reading, math, etc.) You need to maintain the appearance of normal childhood development in non-racing areas
[Recommendation: Try to have actual fun sometimes. You're four. Don't forget what childhood feels like.]
The System had a point. I was so focused on training, on preparation, on becoming the racing driver I'd claimed I could be, that I sometimes forgot I was actually living a second childhood. I had the opportunity to experience things I'd missed or taken for granted the first time around.
Like having a sister who adored me.
Chloe had become my biggest supporter, attending every practice session she could, cheering from the sidelines, and asking a million questions about racing that I had to answer in age-appropriate ways.
"Why do you turn the wheel before the corner?" she asked one afternoon, sitting on the pit wall with her legs swinging.
"Because the kart needs time to respond," I explained, keeping it simple even though I could have discussed turn-in points, slip angles, and optimal racing lines. "Like when you throw a ball, you aim where you want it to go, not where it is right now."
"That makes sense!" She nodded seriously, then pulled out a notebook she'd been carrying. "I'm keeping notes. When you're famous, I'm going to write a book about how I helped you train."
"You're helping me train?"
"Of course! I'm your... what's the word? Manager? Coach?"
"Cheerleader?" I suggested, grinning.
She stuck her tongue out at me. "Assistant coach. I'm learning everything so I can help you."
And she was. Chloe watched every practice with intense focus, learned the track layout, started understanding racing terminology. At eight years old, she was becoming genuinely knowledgeable about motorsport, all because she wanted to support her little brother.
[System Note: Your sister is special.]
[In your previous life, you had no siblings. You don't know how rare this kind of support is.]
[Don't take it for granted.]
[Also, she's probably going to be relevant to your career later. People who support you from the beginning often become important in unexpected ways.]
My first month of proper training was humbling in ways I hadn't anticipated. I had all the theoretical knowledge in the world, but my four-year-old body had limitations that no amount of adult consciousness could overcome.
My arms weren't strong enough to handle the kart through long sessions. My legs barely reached the pedals even with extensions. My neck muscles struggled with the forces of cornering. My hands were so small that gripping the steering wheel properly was a challenge.
Marc, to his credit, understood this. He didn't push me beyond what my body could handle, instead focusing on building proper technique and muscle memory.
"Racing is a marathon, not a sprint," he told me after I'd complained about having to stop after only thirty minutes on track. "Your body needs time to develop. We're building foundations now that will serve you for decades."
"But I want to be faster now," I whined, and it was genuine whining, not performance. The frustration was real.
"You're four," Marc said gently. "You're already faster than you should be. We're not in a hurry, Lance. The speed will come."
[Physical Development Protocol: Active]
[Current Limitations:]
Upper body strength: Insufficient for extended sessions Leg length: Borderline for pedal control Neck strength: Developing but weak Hand size: Challenging for optimal grip Stamina: Limited to 30-45 minute sessions
[Training Focus:]
Technique over speed Consistency over aggression Building muscle memory slowly Avoiding injury or burnout
[Estimated Timeline to Competitive Readiness: 18-24 months]
[You need patience. I know it's not your strength, but you need it anyway.]
The System was right. Patience had never been my virtue, not in my previous life and not now. But I was learning it, lap by lap, session by session.
I learned that smooth was fast. That consistent was better than occasionally brilliant. That understanding the kart's limits was more important than pushing beyond them.
Marc taught me about weight transfer, how the kart's balance shifted through corners. He taught me about tire grip, how different surfaces affected handling. He taught me about racing lines, explaining them in ways a child could understand while I internally noted how they matched everything I already knew.
"Imagine the track is a ribbon," he said one day, using chalk to draw on the pit floor. "You want to straighten the ribbon as much as possible. That means using all the track, turning in early, hitting the apex, and using all the exit."
I nodded, following along, even though I could have drawn the racing line myself. But I let him teach, let him think he was explaining new concepts, because that's what a four-year-old prodigy would do—learn quickly but still need instruction.
[Age: 4 Years, 2 Months]
[Training Sessions Completed: 24]
[Skills Developing:]
Racecraft: Basic (learning overtaking, defending) Consistency: Good (lap times within 0.5 seconds) Smoothness: Excellent (very clean driving style) Feedback: Advanced (can describe what the kart is doing) Adaptability: Strong (adjusts to different conditions quickly)
[Fastest Lap: 1:28.7]
[Improvement from First Session: 4.2 seconds]
[Assessment: On track for early competition entry]
My fifth birthday came and went with less fanfare than my fourth. The family kept it small—just us, my grandparents, and a few of Chloe's friends who I'd gotten to know through her. Claire made my favorite dinner (which I'd taught her to make), and there was cake, presents, and the usual birthday rituals.
But the real gift came the day after, when Lawrence sat me down for a serious conversation.
"Lance, Marc thinks you're ready to start competing. Not full races yet, but practice sessions with other drivers. Small, local events. How do you feel about that?"
How did I feel? I felt like this was what I'd been waiting for. Training alone was valuable, but racing was about competing, about measuring yourself against others.
"I want to race," I said simply.
"It won't be easy," Lawrence warned. "You'll be racing against kids who are older, bigger, more experienced. You might not win right away. You might finish last. How will you handle that?"
I thought about my previous life, about all those tweets where I'd claimed racing was easy, that talent was everything, that with the right equipment anyone could win. I thought about how wrong I'd been, how naive.
"I'll learn," I said. "Losing teaches you more than winning."
Lawrence's eyebrows rose. "That's very mature."
"Marc says it," I explained, which was true. Marc had said exactly that last week. But I'd understood it in my previous life too, watching drivers I'd criticized bounce back from failures to become champions.
"Alright then. Your first event is in three weeks. Local club championship, beginner class. Let's see what you can do."
[Mission Update: First Competition Scheduled]
[Event: Montreal Karting Club - Beginner Championship]
[Date: Three weeks from now]
[Competition Level: Local, amateur]
[Expected Competitors: 12-15 drivers, ages 6-10]
[Your Age: 5 years old]
[Significant Disadvantage: Yes]
[Recommendation: Manage expectations. This is about experience, not results.]
[But also... let's be honest. You want to win. I know you do.]
The next three weeks were intense. Marc increased my training frequency, adding specific practice sessions focused on race starts, overtaking maneuvers, and defensive driving. We studied videos of other races, analyzing how drivers positioned their karts, how they set up passes, how they protected positions.
"Racing is different from practicing alone," Marc explained. "Other drivers will make mistakes. They'll be unpredictable. You need to be ready for anything."
"How do I overtake someone bigger than me?"
"Smart placement. Use the racing line to your advantage. Don't try to out-muscle them—you can't. Out-smart them instead." He pulled up a video on his tablet, showing a small driver overtaking a larger one. "See? He sets up the corner better, carries more speed through the apex, gets a better exit. The pass happens because of superior technique, not superior strength."
I absorbed everything, cataloging it alongside my theoretical knowledge. The combination of adult understanding and child's body was strange—I knew what to do intellectually but had to learn how to execute it physically.
Claire's anxiety increased proportionally to race day approaching. She attended every practice session now, standing at the fence with her arms crossed, watching me with the intensity of a hawk monitoring its chick's first flight.
"He's so small," she said to Lawrence one afternoon, her voice carrying across the pit area. "Look at him. He's five years old, racing against children twice his age."
"He's faster than most of them," Lawrence countered.
"That's not the point. What if someone hits him? What if he crashes? What if—"
"Claire." Lawrence's voice was gentle but firm. "He's wearing full safety equipment. Marc is watching him constantly. The karts are speed-limited. He's probably safer here than he is on the playground at school."
"That's not reassuring."
I understood her fear. In her eyes, I was her baby, her youngest child, and she was watching me enter a world where things could go wrong. She didn't know I had an adult consciousness, didn't know about the System helping me, didn't know this was literally my second chance at life and I'd already died once so I was being extremely careful.
She just saw her five-year-old about to race against older kids in machines that went fast.
After practice, I walked over to where she stood. "Mama?"
She looked down, and I could see the worry in her eyes. "Yes, mon chou?"
"I'm safe. Promise. I'm careful."
"I know you are, baby. I just worry. That's what mothers do."
I hugged her legs—still too short to reach much higher—and said, "I'll be okay. Marc teaches me good. And Papa watches. And I'm... I'm good at this."
She picked me up, even though I was getting big for it, and held me close. "I know you're good at this. That's part of what scares me. You're so good that I'm afraid of what it means, where it leads."
"It leads to racing," I said simply. "That's where I want to go."
Claire was quiet for a long moment, then she kissed my forehead. "Then I'll be there, cheering for you. Even if it terrifies me."
[System Note: Family dynamics are complicated.]
[Your mother is scared because she loves you.]
[Your father is supportive because he sees your potential.]
[Your sister is excited because she believes in you.]
[Balance all of this. They're all right in their own ways.]
[Also, you're about to race for the first time. Maybe focus on that.]
Race day arrived with perfect weather—clear skies, moderate temperature, light wind. The Montreal Karting Club was buzzing with activity when we arrived, families setting up in the paddock area, mechanics prepping karts, drivers nervously checking their equipment.
I was the smallest person there by a significant margin.
Other drivers and their families stared as we unloaded our equipment. I could hear the whispers, the skeptical comments.
"How old is that kid?"
"Five? That's crazy. He shouldn't even be here."
"Rich family paying for special treatment, probably."
"He's going to get destroyed out there."
I felt Lawrence tense beside me, but he didn't respond to the comments. Marc helped me into my racing suit, checking everything twice, making sure my helmet fit properly, my gloves were secure.
"Listen to me, Lance," Marc said, crouching so we were eye level. "Today isn't about winning. Today is about learning. You're going to be nervous. You're going to make mistakes. That's okay. Just focus on staying safe, keeping the kart on track, and finishing the race."
"What if I'm last?"
"Then you're last. But you'll have finished your first race, and that's more than most five-year-olds can say." He smiled. "Though between you and me, I don't think you'll be last."
Chloe appeared, practically bouncing with excitement. She'd made a new banner, even bigger than the last one, with "LANCE STROLL - FUTURE CHAMPION" written in huge letters.
"You're going to be amazing," she said confidently. "I know it."
"How do you know?"
"Because you're my brother, and my brother is the best."
Simple logic, unshakeable confidence. I wished I had half her certainty.
[Pre-Race Checklist:]
Kart inspection: Complete Safety equipment: Verified Mental preparation: In progress Physical readiness: Adequate Anxiety level: Moderate (normal for first race) Excitement level: High Overconfidence: Appropriately absent
[Race Format:]
Qualifying: 10 minutes, best lap determines grid position Race: 15 laps Points system: Standard club championship points
[Competition Analysis:]
14 drivers total Age range: 6-10 years old Experience range: 3 months to 2 years Your advantages: Theoretical knowledge, System assistance, intensive training Your disadvantages: Age, size, lack of racing experience
[Prediction: Uncertain. Too many variables for first race.]
[Good luck. Try not to crash.]
Qualifying was chaos.
I'd never been on track with other karts before, and the difference from solo practice was jarring. Engines screaming, drivers jockeying for position on the flying laps, the constant awareness of other machines inches away from mine.
The first lap was cautious, feeling out the traffic, understanding the flow. The second lap I pushed harder, finding gaps, taking my line. By the third lap, I'd found a rhythm.
The kart felt good. My muscles remembered what Marc had taught me. The racing line appeared in my mind, and I followed it, smooth inputs, precise placement, maximizing every corner.
When the checkered flag dropped, I'd set the seventh-fastest time. Out of fourteen drivers. As a five-year-old in his first-ever competitive session.
"That's incredible," Marc said, checking the timing sheets. "You outqualified seven drivers on your first try. Lance, do you understand how unusual that is?"
I did understand, but I was too busy being disappointed that I wasn't faster. Seventh meant I'd start seventh on the grid, with six drivers ahead of me. Six drivers who probably knew race craft, knew how to defend, knew how to overtake.
[System Note: You placed seventh in your first qualifying session ever.]
[Against drivers with months or years of experience.]
[While being five years old.]
[And you're disappointed because you're not faster?]
[This is either admirable ambition or concerning ego. Haven't decided which yet.]
[Focus on the race. That's what matters now.]
The race start was in thirty minutes. I sat in our pit area, drinking water, trying to calm my racing heart. Lawrence sat beside me, not saying anything, just being present.
"Papa?"
"Yes?"
"What if I crash?"
"Then you crash. You dust yourself off, and you try again next time."
"What if I'm slow?"
"Then you learn why and get faster."
"What if everyone was right and I'm too young for this?"
Lawrence turned to look at me directly. "Lance. You're about to race against kids twice your age. Whatever happens out there, you've already proven you belong. Just drive your race. That's all I ask."
Simple advice. Good advice.
[Race Start: Imminent]
[Grid Position: 7th of 14]
[Distance: 15 laps]
[Current Status: Ready]
[Final Recommendation: Remember, smooth is fast. Consistency beats aggression. Finish the race clean.]
[But also... if you get the chance to pass someone, take it.]
[Let's see what you can do.]
The grid formed up. I was sandwiched between a girl about eight years old in position six and a boy who looked about nine in position eight. Both of them glanced at me with expressions mixing curiosity and dismissiveness.
The marshal raised the starting flags. My heart hammered in my chest.
Green flag.
Everyone launched. I got a decent start, maintaining position through the first corner. The lead group pulled away immediately—they were faster, more experienced, knew the track better.
But I could race with my immediate group.
Lap one: Survived. Finished seventh, but learned the pace.
Lap two: The boy behind me tried to dive-bomb into turn three. I held my line, and he ran wide, dropping to tenth. Maintained seventh.
Lap three: Found half a second in my lap time. The gap to sixth closed slightly.
Lap four: The girl in sixth made a mistake in the final corner, running wide onto the curb. I stayed tight, got a better exit, pulled alongside on the straight.
She defended aggressively, but I'd already committed. We went into turn one side by side.
This was it. My first actual overtake in a race.
I held the inside line, braked later than I probably should have, felt the kart slide slightly but kept control. Apex. Exit. I was ahead.
Sixth place.
[Overtake Successful!]
[Position: 6th]
[Lap Time: Personal Best]
[Assessment: Clean pass, good racecraft]
[You're actually doing this. You're actually racing.]
The rest of the race was about consistency. The top five had pulled too far ahead for me to catch, but I defended sixth position relentlessly. The girl I'd passed tried to get back by me twice, but I positioned my kart well, gave her no room, held my line.
Marc's teaching came through. Smart placement. Defensive driving. Making the kart as wide as possible.
Lap fifteen. Final lap. I could see the checkered flag marshal getting ready.
I crossed the line in sixth position.
First race. Sixth place. Against drivers twice my age.
As I pulled into the pit area, I could see Chloe jumping up and down, waving her banner frantically. Claire was crying again, but she was smiling too. Lawrence stood with his arms crossed, but I could see the pride in his expression.
Marc helped me out of the kart, and I pulled off my helmet, sweaty and exhausted and absolutely buzzing with adrenaline.
"How do you feel?" Marc asked.
"Tired. Happy. Want to race again."
He laughed. "That's the right answer. Lance, you just finished sixth in your first race. Do you understand how good that is?"
Other families were approaching, drivers and parents curious about the tiny kid who'd outpaced half the field. The comments had changed from skeptical to surprised.
"How old is he?"
"Five. Just turned five."
"And he's never raced before?"
"First time."
"That's... that's not normal."
No, it wasn't normal. But then again, nothing about my life was normal. I was a reincarnated twenty-eight-year-old with a divine AI system and downloaded cooking abilities, racing karts at age five to prove I could back up years of Twitter criticism from my previous life.
Normal had never been on the table.
[Race Results:]
Position: 6th of 14 Laps Completed: 15/15 Fastest Lap: 1:27.8 (4th fastest overall) Overtakes: 2 Incidents: 0 Assessment: Exceptional debut
[Post-Race Analysis:]
Racecraft: Better than expected Consistency: Good Defensive driving: Excellent Overtaking: Cautious but effective Stamina: Held up through full race distance
[Areas for Improvement:]
Qualifying pace (you have more speed available) Race starts (slightly slow reaction) Traffic management (you were tentative at first) Physical endurance (you were exhausted by the end)
[Overall Grade: A-]
[Mission Status: First Race - Complete]
[Racing Career: Officially begun]
That evening, the family went out to celebrate. Lawrence chose a nice restaurant, and when the waiter brought the menu, I found myself analyzing each dish, thinking about how I'd prepare them differently, better.
"Lance, what are you thinking?" Claire asked, noticing my expression.
"The duck confit," I said, pointing at the menu. "They're serving it with roasted potatoes, but it should be with confit potatoes. And the sauce should have more orange, less honey."
The waiter, who'd been standing nearby, blinked in surprise. "That's... actually how our chef used to prepare it. How did you know?"
"Because that's the right way," I said simply. "The sweetness of honey overpowers the duck. Orange complements it."
Lawrence and Claire exchanged one of their looks—the ones that said they still hadn't fully processed having a child who could both race karts and critique restaurant menus.
"Are you going to order it?" Lawrence asked, amused.
"No. I want the steak. Medium rare. With the peppercorn sauce." I paused. "Unless they make it with white pepper. Then I want the béarnaise."
The waiter was staring at me now. "We use black pepper in our peppercorn sauce."
"Good. That's correct. White pepper is wrong for steak."
Chloe giggled. "Lance is critiquing a fancy restaurant."
"Lance critiques everything involving food," Claire said, but she was smiling. "We've learned to just accept it."
The meal was good, though I could have improved several aspects of it. But I was learning to keep most of my culinary opinions to myself unless specifically asked. Being a five-year-old food critic was already weird enough without offering unsolicited advice to professional chefs.
"So," Lawrence said as we ate, "how did it feel? Your first race?"
"Amazing," I answered honestly. "Hard. Scary. But amazing."
"Want to do it again?"
"Every weekend if I can."
"The season has six more races," Marc had told us earlier. "If Lance wants to compete in all of them, he'll gain valuable experience."
Lawrence nodded. "Then we'll do all six. Build from here. Learn and improve."
"Thank you, Papa. Mama." I looked at both my parents. "For letting me race. For supporting me."
Claire reached over and ruffled my hair. "Of course, mon chou. Though you're going to give me gray hair before you're ten."
"I'll be careful. Promise."
[Age: 5 Years Old]
[Racing Status: Active Competitor]
[Season Results: 1 race, 6th place]
[Remaining Races: 6]
[Goal: Top 5 in championship standings]
[Realistic Goal: Learn, improve, gain experience]
[Your Goal: Win something before the season ends]
[We'll see which goal you achieve.]
The next six races were a progression of incremental improvements and hard-learned lessons.
Race 2: 5th place. Qualified fourth, lost a position on the start but defended well throughout.
Race 3: 4th place. My first top-five finish that felt earned rather than lucky. Consistent pace throughout, clean overtakes, no mistakes.
Race 4: Crashed. Turn seven, pushed too hard trying to overtake for third, lost the rear end, spun into the barriers. Kart damaged but I was fine. Finished 13th. Learned humility.
Race 5: 5th place. Conservative drive after the previous race's crash. Played it safe, scored solid points.
Race 6: 3rd place. Qualified second, got passed early, fought back throughout the race, made an aggressive but clean pass for third with two laps remaining. First podium. Chloe cried. Claire cried. I cried a little too, though I tried to hide it.
Race 7: 2nd place. Led the first three laps before the eventual winner passed me with superior pace. Held second despite intense pressure. Another podium, another step forward.
By the end of the season, I'd finished fifth in the championship standings. As a five-year-old in my first season against drivers up to ten years old.
The karting community was starting to notice.
"That's Lawrence Stroll's kid, right? The one who started racing at five?"
"Heard he's some kind of prodigy. Cooks like a professional chef too, apparently."
"Rich kid advantages. Private coaching, perfect equipment."
"Sure, but you still have to drive the kart. Money can't buy talent."
The comments were a mix of admiration, skepticism, and resentment—the same mix that would follow me throughout my career, I realized. In my previous life, I'd been one of the skeptics. Now I was learning what it felt like to be on the receiving end.
[Season Summary:]
Races: 7 Best Finish: 2nd Podiums: 2 (3rd, 2nd) Championship Position: 5th of 14 Fastest Lap Awards: 1 DNFs: 1 (crash, race 4)
[Season Assessment:]
Exceeded expectations significantly Demonstrated consistent improvement Learned from mistakes (notably the crash) Handled pressure well for age Building reputation in local karting scene
[Next Season Goals:]
Win a race Top 3 in championship Move to more competitive class Continue developing racecraft
[Personal Development:]
Physical: Growing stronger, stamina improving Mental: Learning race psychology Technical: Understanding setup and kart dynamics Social: Making connections in racing community
The season-ending banquet was held at a nice hotel in Montreal. All the drivers and families gathered to celebrate the year, receive trophies, and socialize. I received a trophy for fifth place and another for "Most Improved Driver," which felt appropriate given I'd started the season never having raced before.
During the dinner, several other drivers' parents approached Lawrence and Claire.
"Your son is remarkable," one father said. "My daughter is eight, been racing for two years, and Lance kept pace with her all season. How did you prepare him?"
Lawrence handled the questions diplomatically, crediting Marc's coaching and my natural aptitude without revealing the full extent of my unusual abilities. He was learning to navigate the politics of youth racing, the delicate balance between pride in your child and avoiding resentment from other families.
I sat at the table with the other drivers, eating dessert (which was mediocre crème brûlée—wrong texture, burned sugar too thick, vanilla bean not properly scraped) and listening to them talk about next season.
"I'm moving up to Junior class," the eventual champion said. He was ten, had been racing for four years. "Time to face real competition."
"I'm staying in Beginner," another driver said. "Want to win the championship next year."
They looked at me. "What about you, Lance? You coming back?"
"Moving up," I said confidently. Even though I was only five, even though Junior class was typically for seven to twelve-year-olds, I needed the challenge. "Want to race faster karts."
"You sure? Junior class is much harder. Bigger kids, more aggressive racing."
"I'm sure."
[Decision Made: Junior Class Entry]
[Age: 5 years, 6 months]
[Typical Age Range for Junior Class: 7-12 years]
[Your Decision: Ambitious]
[System Assessment: Ambitious but achievable]
[You've proven you can compete. Now prove you can compete at the next level.]
[No pressure.]
On the drive home, Chloe fell asleep in the back seat, exhausted from the day's excitement. I stared out the window at the passing lights of Montreal, processing everything.
One season done. Fifth place in the championship. Two podiums. One win away from proving I could actually win races, not just participate in them.
In my previous life, I'd claimed racing was easy with the right equipment and opportunities. This season had taught me how wrong I'd been. Racing was hard. It was physically demanding, mentally exhausting, required constant learning and adaptation.
But I'd also learned something else: I was actually good at it.
Not just theoretically good. Not just good on paper or in simulators. Actually, practically, provably good at racing.
The Twitter warrior who'd never driven competitively had become a kart racing competitor who'd finished fifth in his first season at age five.
It was progress. Real, measurable progress toward becoming the driver I'd claimed I could be.
[Age 5: Year in Review]
[Major Accomplishments:]
Completed first karting season Earned two podiums in seven races Finished 5th in championship Demonstrated consistent improvement Earned respect from competitors despite age Maintained cover as normal (if gifted) child Continued culinary development Strengthened family bonds
[Challenges Faced:]
Physical limitations due to age/size Crash in Race 4 (learning experience) Pressure and expectations Balancing racing with childhood Managing others' skepticism
[Current Status:]
Racing: Active competitor, moving to Junior class Cooking: Expert level, becoming locally known Family: Strong support system Physical: Developing appropriately Mental: Focused but learning to enjoy childhood
[Age 6 Goals:]
Win first race Top 3 in Junior class championship Continue physical development Manage increased competition level Maintain balance in life
[Long-term Path:]
Age 6-8: Dominate local karting Age 8-10: Regional and national karting Age 10-13: International karting Age 14+: Single-seater ladder (F4, F3, F2, F1)
[Mission Status: On Track]
[You're doing it. Slowly, carefully, one race at a time, you're actually doing it.]
[Keep going.]
To be continued...
Author's Note: Chapter 5 covers Lance's age 5 year, featuring his first full karting season. He progresses from never having raced to finishing 5th in the championship with two podiums, learning crucial lessons about racing, dealing with criticism, and balancing ambition with realistic expectations. Next chapter will likely cover age 6, his move to Junior class, pursuing his first win, and continued development both on and off track. The foundation is solid—now we build toward dominance.