Shelby Manning (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shelbycobra) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
muserevival2016-01-08 11:22 pm
shelbycobra) wrote in muserevival2016-01-08 11:22 pm
113.1.1 - lyrics
"And all the roads we have to walk are winding
And all the lights that lead us there are blinding
There are many things that I would
Like to say to you
But I don't know how
Because maybe
You're gonna be the one that saves me
And after all
You're my wonderwall."
It's a close to perfect day for Shelby. Her alarm goes off at four in the morning, and she rolls over in her own bed feeling rested and ready to face the day even though daylight hasn't even broken yet. She takes a nice long shower, then still has to chuckle as she pulls on another bright red Chip Ganassi Racing polo and the matching black jacket out of her closet. She's the first one up in the whole house, so she puts the coffee on before making herself a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios and sitting at the kitchen table with breakfast and the early morning reruns of last night's sports news. Even well aware of what's ahead, she finds herself completely relaxed.
At five-fifteen she's got keys and Oakley sunglasses in one hand, the duffel bag containing all of her race gear in the other as she walks out the door. The keys go to the Corvette she earned for winning the Indianapolis 500, which spends the other eleven months out of the year in the garage. Not today, as she puts the gear bag in the back, slips credentials around her neck and the sunglasses into her pocket, then fires up the engine. No one else can hear her, so she turns up the Nicki Minaj album as she drives her way toward her office. At least twelve hours of work are in front of her, and she really wouldn't want it any other way.
This isn't just what she does, but it's who she is. She may be the most single-minded person on the planet, having spent her entire life with just one goal since she was five. To her, almost every part of this is something that she loves. No one is that surprised when she comes walking into the garage at six, even though she's not required to be there until six-thirty. Even the Ganassi engineers, who don't know her that well, roll their eyes a little at the overachiever in their midst. Shelby laughs off the teasing, puts her equipment in the hauler and starts on her second cup of coffee.
To her, a day at the office is like a day spent going to Disneyland. She's happy to greet each of her three co-drivers with hugs, and the same goes for any and all other familiar faces she sees as she moves throughout the paddock. There's talk about families, photos of kids shown off or in her case, photos of the new Aston Martin that was delivered to her last week as a surprise gift from her former employers. When it's time to actually get to work, she's the only person in the hauler taking notes during the engineering meeting, jotting things down with a cheap Bic pen in a spiral notebook in between asking questions. She'll remember all of this, but she'll still study those notes after dinner.
There are two test sessions on the day and Shelby feels good when she sees that they're sixth and seventh fastest on the leader board, especially since the other Prototype crashed out and one of the GT's couldn't even get off the transporter until they pried open the stuck door. It's nice to know that they can lift the team up on a rough day, although admittedly there's a little competition going to see which one of them can post the fastest lap. That would be Tony, though someone leans over to her later and says she was only two tenths of a second behind. The number makes her think of Kevin and she smiles.
More conversations follow throughout the day, working out details and offering suggestions and analyzing data, along with spending time in the garage just watching the car take shape, seeing how it will come together for a race just a few weeks away. She's confident in how it's all coming together. Then there's the miscellaneous stuff that comes with the job: meeting fans, signing autographs, doing a few interviews asking how she feels going into a new season that has her flying high. Her answer is always the same: she doesn't think about where she is, all she wants to do is race well. Something that one of the guys she's sharing a hauler with told her this time last year.
Thirteen and a half hours after she left she pulls the Corvette back into the garage, walking in the door just as her stepmother is putting dinner on the table. Shelby is tired but not exhausted; she stops only to take another shower and change into a more comfortable T-shirt before joining her family for lasagna and a conversation about everyone's days. When she's helped with the dishes, she grabs a soda and that spiral notebook and goes to sit out by the pool and do her homework. At least, that's what she calls it. This is heaven to her: getting to do what she loves at an elite level, then come home to her family and end her day with her nose in a notebook full of engineering notes and timing data.
But as she finishes the soda and watches the day end, she finds herself thinking about someone she didn't expect to. Things are definitely a little different now; a different race means a new crew, a new trainer and most importantly a new voice in her ear. The strategist she has now is the same one from last year, but he's still not Shane. Not that overly blunt tone and biting sarcasm she's actually become partial to. She reaches into her back pocket for her phone and dials his home number, wondering what he's doing in that expensive condo of his since he's so intent on actually having an offseason.
"Shelby?" he says, not hiding that he's surprised to hear from her. When she says she just found herself wondering what he was up to, he actually laughs and says, "Nothing you want to hear about. How's Daytona?"
"Daytona's great. We did top six today and we'll be better tomorrow. Actually I'm going to head to bed in a bit," she replies, checking her watch to see that it's after eight-thirty and she has the same alarm set for the next morning. "It feels surreal, though. Working for Ganassi and not having you here, or Terry, or Derrick. I'm just so used to having you with me."
"I would've thought you'd enjoy having someone else talking to you." Shane can never quite stop being sarcastic but he understands the sentiment she's trying to convey. "Don't worry, you'll see me soon enough."
"Yeah," she agrees, adding honestly, "I'm looking forward to it." She lets him go after that, so she can gather up her things and make her way to bed before an even longer day of testing. But she feels good about getting that off her chest. As perfect as this day was, as much as she got to do, it's not quite complete without the people that got her here. The people that she knows, even though they're in two different states, will absolutely be watching this race when it happens and cheering her on.
--
Shelby Manning Martin
Need for Speed OC
1201 words
And all the lights that lead us there are blinding
There are many things that I would
Like to say to you
But I don't know how
Because maybe
You're gonna be the one that saves me
And after all
You're my wonderwall."
It's a close to perfect day for Shelby. Her alarm goes off at four in the morning, and she rolls over in her own bed feeling rested and ready to face the day even though daylight hasn't even broken yet. She takes a nice long shower, then still has to chuckle as she pulls on another bright red Chip Ganassi Racing polo and the matching black jacket out of her closet. She's the first one up in the whole house, so she puts the coffee on before making herself a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios and sitting at the kitchen table with breakfast and the early morning reruns of last night's sports news. Even well aware of what's ahead, she finds herself completely relaxed.
At five-fifteen she's got keys and Oakley sunglasses in one hand, the duffel bag containing all of her race gear in the other as she walks out the door. The keys go to the Corvette she earned for winning the Indianapolis 500, which spends the other eleven months out of the year in the garage. Not today, as she puts the gear bag in the back, slips credentials around her neck and the sunglasses into her pocket, then fires up the engine. No one else can hear her, so she turns up the Nicki Minaj album as she drives her way toward her office. At least twelve hours of work are in front of her, and she really wouldn't want it any other way.
This isn't just what she does, but it's who she is. She may be the most single-minded person on the planet, having spent her entire life with just one goal since she was five. To her, almost every part of this is something that she loves. No one is that surprised when she comes walking into the garage at six, even though she's not required to be there until six-thirty. Even the Ganassi engineers, who don't know her that well, roll their eyes a little at the overachiever in their midst. Shelby laughs off the teasing, puts her equipment in the hauler and starts on her second cup of coffee.
To her, a day at the office is like a day spent going to Disneyland. She's happy to greet each of her three co-drivers with hugs, and the same goes for any and all other familiar faces she sees as she moves throughout the paddock. There's talk about families, photos of kids shown off or in her case, photos of the new Aston Martin that was delivered to her last week as a surprise gift from her former employers. When it's time to actually get to work, she's the only person in the hauler taking notes during the engineering meeting, jotting things down with a cheap Bic pen in a spiral notebook in between asking questions. She'll remember all of this, but she'll still study those notes after dinner.
There are two test sessions on the day and Shelby feels good when she sees that they're sixth and seventh fastest on the leader board, especially since the other Prototype crashed out and one of the GT's couldn't even get off the transporter until they pried open the stuck door. It's nice to know that they can lift the team up on a rough day, although admittedly there's a little competition going to see which one of them can post the fastest lap. That would be Tony, though someone leans over to her later and says she was only two tenths of a second behind. The number makes her think of Kevin and she smiles.
More conversations follow throughout the day, working out details and offering suggestions and analyzing data, along with spending time in the garage just watching the car take shape, seeing how it will come together for a race just a few weeks away. She's confident in how it's all coming together. Then there's the miscellaneous stuff that comes with the job: meeting fans, signing autographs, doing a few interviews asking how she feels going into a new season that has her flying high. Her answer is always the same: she doesn't think about where she is, all she wants to do is race well. Something that one of the guys she's sharing a hauler with told her this time last year.
Thirteen and a half hours after she left she pulls the Corvette back into the garage, walking in the door just as her stepmother is putting dinner on the table. Shelby is tired but not exhausted; she stops only to take another shower and change into a more comfortable T-shirt before joining her family for lasagna and a conversation about everyone's days. When she's helped with the dishes, she grabs a soda and that spiral notebook and goes to sit out by the pool and do her homework. At least, that's what she calls it. This is heaven to her: getting to do what she loves at an elite level, then come home to her family and end her day with her nose in a notebook full of engineering notes and timing data.
But as she finishes the soda and watches the day end, she finds herself thinking about someone she didn't expect to. Things are definitely a little different now; a different race means a new crew, a new trainer and most importantly a new voice in her ear. The strategist she has now is the same one from last year, but he's still not Shane. Not that overly blunt tone and biting sarcasm she's actually become partial to. She reaches into her back pocket for her phone and dials his home number, wondering what he's doing in that expensive condo of his since he's so intent on actually having an offseason.
"Shelby?" he says, not hiding that he's surprised to hear from her. When she says she just found herself wondering what he was up to, he actually laughs and says, "Nothing you want to hear about. How's Daytona?"
"Daytona's great. We did top six today and we'll be better tomorrow. Actually I'm going to head to bed in a bit," she replies, checking her watch to see that it's after eight-thirty and she has the same alarm set for the next morning. "It feels surreal, though. Working for Ganassi and not having you here, or Terry, or Derrick. I'm just so used to having you with me."
"I would've thought you'd enjoy having someone else talking to you." Shane can never quite stop being sarcastic but he understands the sentiment she's trying to convey. "Don't worry, you'll see me soon enough."
"Yeah," she agrees, adding honestly, "I'm looking forward to it." She lets him go after that, so she can gather up her things and make her way to bed before an even longer day of testing. But she feels good about getting that off her chest. As perfect as this day was, as much as she got to do, it's not quite complete without the people that got her here. The people that she knows, even though they're in two different states, will absolutely be watching this race when it happens and cheering her on.
--
Shelby Manning Martin
Need for Speed OC
1201 words