This first-person essay is part of a special series leading up to the 109th running of the Indianapolis 500 on May 25 on FOX in which INDYCAR drivers penned letters about what the historic race means to them. Read them all here.

To My Younger Self, 

You were only 3 when you first started asking, relentlessly, for a go-kart. Not a toy, not a video game. A real kart. Even then, you knew what you were chasing, even if you couldn’t explain why. (Must have something to do with your name). On your 5th birthday, your persistence paid off. I still remember the feeling of sitting in that kart for the first time. It didn’t matter that your feet barely reached the pedals — something inside you clicked into place.

You wanted to race. You wanted to win. And boy will you ever.

And now, years later, you’re going to compete in the Indianapolis 500.

The race every racer has dreamed of competing in. The one you used to run around the living room pretending to win. The place that felt like a dream from another universe when you first saw it in person. You’re not just watching anymore. You’re in it. Suit zipped, helmet on, visor down, with 32 of the fastest drivers in the world.

But before you get there, you’ll live a thousand lives behind the wheel. And I need you to remember what it took.

The years on the road — studying in the back of the car, while mom and dad, Gramma Suz and Papa towed your kart from state to state. There weren’t many tracks in Idaho so you had to travel far. The weekends when you stayed dry by wrapping your shoes in plastic bags, when others had haulers to keep them dry. The broken rib. The engine falling off in qualifying, forcing you to start last. Hotel rebuilds of your only engine. Those wins put you through a lot of tear-downs. You learned early that your path would never be paved with comfort.

Your first win. The feeling of validation. The joy in your parents’ eyes.

Karts lead to cars and the journey continues. So does the winning. And the dream is ever closer. But the cost went far beyond inconvenience.

Mom and Dad sell the family grocery store to keep your career alive. Gramma will soon sell her dream car — that ‘67 Malibu — for the same reason. Not because they had to, but because they believe in you. Your mission becomes their mission.

Gramma and Papa will never miss a race. Idaho to South Carolina. Vancouver to Italy. That old Tahoe and blue pop-up tent may not have looked like much to anyone else, but they are the foundation of our dream; built not on resources, but on sacrifice, love, and unwavering belief.

Then, you’ll race in INDYCAR. 

It won’t be the mountaintop you think it is now. It will feel, in many ways, like starting over. There will be setbacks. Doubt. Isolation. Your familiar place atop the podium vanishes. You’ll question if you’re enough.

But something within you will remain unchanged. Something more important than momentum: perspective. The light you carry inside, the one you always looked up to in guys like Tim Tebow, it doesn’t go out. Not in defeat. Not in uncertainty. That light is your foundation.

You’ll still write “3:16” on your car. 

You’ll still race for more than just trophies. Your family, too, will remain your constant. And one day, you’ll meet a remarkable woman named Molly. She’ll stand beside you, support you, and expand the definition of what “family” means, as yours merges with hers. You’ll begin to see your journey through a wider lens — not just as a pursuit of victory, but as a calling with purpose.

You’ll still want to win. Driven to win. Desperately. And you’ll race with everything you have. But you’ll also understand that real victory — lasting victory — is built on love, resilience, and faith.

And so, as you line up on the grid for the Indianapolis 500 — the largest race in the world — you’ll carry with you every memory, every challenge, and every person who helped you get there. And you’ll know this: racing and living a life with purpose, is incredibly rewarding, as your mission becomes our mission. On and off the track.

For God’s glory, always.

– Sting Ray

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