At 50, most people won’t find themselves gearing up for a full season of wheel-to-wheel racing, but that’s exactly where I found myself. I'm a family man with a full-time job and a long-standing love and passion for cars. Most of my work involves writing about them, rather than competitively racing in them. Yet there I was, earlier this year, sitting on the grid of the 2025 Toyota Gazoo Racing Philippine Cup, helmet on, heart pounding, and waiting for the lights to go out.

You’d think I was burning through my savings pursuing something that had quietly lingered in the back of my mind for years, but it just so happened that Toyota Gazoo Racing Philippines was offering a tryout for a Novice Class seat, and I seized the opportunity.

Through the rigorous series of tests, it was clear that securing a seat on the team wouldn't be easy. We were timed on autocross and drag runs, asked to hold a plank for endurance, and even evaluated on our on-camera presence. I made the cut. I found myself on the same team as drivers who were faster and had more experience, most of whom were at least 15 years younger.

But I do have some motorsport background. I competed in the Toyota Vios Cup Media Autocross Challenge in 2021 and finished second overall in the championship. In 2004, I had the rare privilege of taking a performance driving course in Parma, Italy, where I piloted Italian sports cars around a track for a few days. But I've never truly raced before. Not like this.

The 2025 season began at Clark International Speedway. I had driven the track before, but never in race conditions, and most definitely not with this much pressure.

The first two sprint races were intense. I wasn’t dead last, but I stayed near the back, choosing to learn rather than race. Everything felt quicker, louder, and more physical than I expected. The Novice Class Vios One-Make Race (OMR) car doesn’t let you get away with anything. It’s loud and unforgiving, with a CVT that has the temperament of a hungry and sleepy 3-year-old. You either drive it right, or the car will throw a fit.

My teammates were quicker, more confident, and more accustomed to the environment. They pointed out braking zones, reviewed my onboard footage, and explained where I was losing time. Together with the outstanding Tuason Racing School coaches, I was learning more in a weekend than I had in years of fast driving.

The 90-minute endurance race, where all three classes would be running, was my first ever. Apart from having to share the course with more than 20 other faster cars, the anxiety came from wanting to perform well while not running out of fuel. We ended up doing around 34 laps in the sticky afternoon heat. But alas, I was ill-prepared. My hydration plan barely got me through, my tailbone began to ache around the 28th lap, and with the tires heating up, I had to ease off the throttle just to maintain control. If the safety car hadn't come out, I would have probably run out of gas too. Cars from the faster classes flew by constantly, forcing me to safely let them pass where I could. But I stayed on track, stayed clean, and handed back the car with no damage. It was a podium-less and quiet finish, but one I took seriously.

The second round was held in Villar City in Cavite. It was a street circuit, the first time Toyota had run one since 2018. Concrete barriers and tire-wall chicanes dotted the course. A mistake here would be punished with heavy damage and even heavier race fines. It was intimidating for sure, yet oddly, I was at ease.

For over two years now, I’ve been driving a rally simulator at home called Richard Burns Rally almost daily. I have a humble rig, but sim-rallying was my way to de-stress after a long day. I favor playing on tight tarmac stages and chicane-heavy layouts. But it was play, and it never felt like serious training.

On the Villar City street circuit, however, something clicked. It all felt familiar. I wasn’t seeing barriers, but rather lines, flow, and rhythm. The sim experience transferred over in ways I didn’t expect. Muscle memory kicked in with steering precision, throttle and brake control, and the deep memory of driving just a foot away from contact. All of it helped. I wasn’t intimidated; I was focused.

Other drivers made mistakes, but I didn’t. Of the Novice Class cars, mine was the most spotless, despite the occasional love taps from behind. After that weekend's three sprint races, I had won two Second Place trophies to bring home.

It was the first time I was called to step up to the podium and receive a trophy. Best weekend ever.

Last August, the races returned to Clark International Speedway for the final leg of the season. Coming off the podium wins from the second leg, I was more confident. I knew Clark. I had more experience now and two trophies to show for it. I could definitely do better here, I told myself proudly.

On the first sprint race that Friday, I finished dead last. It was the worst race of my season.

Two of the TRS coaches sat me down, reviewed the onboard footage, and gave me the hard truth: I got in my own head, and I was trying too hard. I needed to stop reacting and start driving my own race. That night, I reset. I watched the footage over and over again. I replayed the corners in my head and decided to let go of the need to prove something.

The redemption I needed came the morning after. As the lights counted down, I told myself one last time: Relax. Off the line, I found a rhythm almost immediately. I launched cleanly from last place, kept my cool amidst the start-grid chaos, and drove with an inner peace I hadn't felt all season. I was at the back of the grid, but it didn't matter. I was going to take this race on my own terms.

I kept to my racing lines, the ones we’d been taught repeatedly, and raced as if I were the only car on track. Then something amazing happened: I caught up with the car ahead, forced him into a mistake, and overtook him by the third lap. A lap and a half later, I passed another car, triggering him so much that he ended up out of bounds on the next hard left turn.

Each move I made was clean, committed, and controlled. I wasn’t driving with desperation anymore; I was calm, in control of my pace, my line, and my breathing. I was driving my race.

I didn't make it to the podium on that final race weekend, but I still came out feeling like a winner.

Across all three weekends, one thing became clear: racing is not just about attacking and defending, aggression, outright speed, or quick reflexes. It's about clarity.

I came into this season with mixed expectations. I thought I’d feel out of place, or maybe just be plain too old and too inexperienced. But what I learned was this: the ability to learn, adapt, and stay composed under pressure is far more valuable than raw speed. Racing taught me to slow my mind down, even when my hands and feet were moving quickly. And that skill has value well beyond the racetrack.

Being 50 didn’t mean I couldn’t learn; it just meant I had to approach racing with a different mindset. I learned to set aside my ego and truly listen when teammates and coaches, many of them years younger, shared insights drawn from their own experiences. I had to come to terms with the reality that I needed to work twice as hard to match others' pace, and I made peace with that. Even if I finished 6th out of 8 in our class this season, I walked away with something more meaningful: a renewed sense of what growth really looks like.

I don’t know if I’ll be back next season, but I leave this year’s campaign as a better driver and a sharper learner. I know I’ve pushed myself in ways that felt uncomfortable, humbling, and incredibly rewarding. And if I do return, I’ll do so with the same mindset that carried me through this one: keep calm, drive clean, and take every lap as a chance to be better.

Turns out, the fastest way forward sometimes begins by slowing down.