Add in two dozen other gearhead degenerates going apeshit along with you on the track, and you’ve got yourself a ten-lap ticket straight to your own mental redline. When you finally pull off the track into the pits, your overheated car will reek of burnt brake and clutch, your damp clothes are glued with sweat to your skin, and you’ll remove your driving gloves with shaking hands. The adrenaline crash will hit, and you’ll be reminded of the moments after your first fight, or your first real fuck.
