 Good morning, Hank. It's Tuesday. So on Friday, Rosyana and I left the magic and awesome of NerdCon stories to head up to Princeton, Minnesota, where I raced cars on a dirt track against best-selling author and all-around awesome person, Maggie Steve Otter. So, Hank, an IndyCar driver I know once told me that in racing, the only thing more dangerous than being too aggressive is being too cautious, which is an observation that I think applies to more than just racing. And while I'm certainly an uncommonly anxious person, I don't think of myself as an overly cautious one. So I was feeling kind of excited as we arrived at the Princeton Speedway. I mean, at no point did I actually think I could win the race, but I did think I could, like, finish it without being pulled out of a burning vehicle, which, as it turned out, was overly optimistic. Took my first ever ride in a four-wheeler to my race car, which belonged to a 17-year-old, hence its number. My coach for the evening was his dad, Alan. And special shout-out to Alan's kids, my pit crew, 10-year-old Allison, and 8-year-old Aaron. My first lesson was getting in and out of the car, which, as you can see, is ridiculously difficult. Hank, I need to linger on this shot for a moment because I want you to understand how hard it is to get out of these cars, even when they are not on fire. Also, I want you to notice my excellent Eleanor and Park t-shirt, which I got at dftba.com. So Alan's an experienced race car driver and an excellent coach. He explained to me at least a dozen times that coming out of the corner, I would feel an urge to overcorrect the steering and or let off the throttle, and that giving into that urge would be a significant mistake. And I was able to remember that advice for like five and a half laps of actual racing. Put on my smoke-and-hot fire suit, my helmet, a pair of gloves, and then Maggie showed up with her awesome car and its awesome license plate. And then after an impossibly beautiful sunset came to Princeton, I belted myself in for our first of three scheduled races. Maggie jumped out to a lead and she was faster than me and also a much better driver, but my car turned really well in the dirt and its power was exciting and intoxicating, and I was just trying to keep up with her, but then I thought, you know, maybe I could drive alongside of her and really make a race out of this. And then on the fifth lap, coming out of turn four, I felt an urge to correct the steering and yeah. The Speedway staff got to me very quickly, and although I could feel the heat of the fire in my back and legs, they kept me calm and pulled me out and I was fine, but I'm not going to lie, Hank. It was terrifying. But then they fixed the problem with the car and for some reason I decided to get back in it. In fact, I won the second heat. More precisely, Maggie let me win and I got a trophy and everything. And then we raced for a third time and Maggie dominated me so thoroughly that the regular pro drivers at the Speedway asked to take her on and she beat them as well. So Maggie won the race, but I caught fire and didn't get hurt, which felt very much like, you know, some kind of winning. And late that night as I tried to sleep, I kept playing the race back in my mind, me doing precisely the thing I'd been told not to, the heat of the flames against my back, my panic hands as I tried to unbuckle the belts, the smoky relief of being pulled from the car. There are of course smart risks. The proper line to run through life is somewhere between extreme caution and extreme aggression, but this wasn't one of them. That said, Hank, I have to confess that I am proud to have lost to Maggie, but not to myself. But in the end, Hank, I think I'm gonna use this occasion to announce my retirement from race car driving. I'm headed back to the grandstands where I belong. Hank, I'll see you on Friday.