When I first met her, I’ll be honest—I didn’t think too much of it. She wasn’t what I expected, not at all. At that point in my life, everything revolved around motocross. My career was taking shape, and I was consumed by the grind, the discipline, the sheer willpower it took to stay at the top of the sport. The Game, the Club, the road ahead—that’s where my mind lived. Romance? It wasn’t even on my radar.
But then—she—she walked into my life like a different kind of race, one I hadn’t prepared for. It wasn’t dramatic at first, more like a quiet shift, the way a track feels different after a storm. She carried herself with a calm confidence that cut through the chaos I’d grown used to. No noise, no pretenses—just real. And that hit me harder than any victory lap ever could.
I started noticing the little things. How she listened, really listened, when I spoke. How she didn’t care about the fame, the lights, or the cameras—she saw me, not the racer, not the trophies. In a world where everything was about speed, she slowed me down in the best way possible. Suddenly, the grind didn’t feel as heavy. The wins were sweeter, and the losses weren’t as crushing, because she was there, steady and unshaken.
Looking back, I realize she didn’t just walk into my life—she changed its course. Racing will always be my passion, my first love, but she became the balance I didn’t know I needed. With her, I learned that sometimes the most important races aren’t on the track, but in the heart. And in that race, with her by my side, I know I’ve already won.
