Editor’s Note: In honor of today’s 24 Hours of Le Mans, here is a repost of my reflections from 2024 when I attended the race and fulfilled a lifelong dream. Two years later I miss not being there. Social media hasn’t helped either.

Reality exceeded the dream. Emotional highs and goosebumps marked my 10 days in Le Mans. I was 10 years old when I first learned of the Le Mans 24-hour race. I read everything I could find about it. Two years later I announced to my family that I wanted to go to Le Mans.  I would accept the trip as any gift for any occasion- graduation, birthday, Christmas- the occasion didn’t matter.  

I never received an envelope with plane tickets to Paris. I still followed the race and learned more of its history. During my freshman year in high school, I spent my study hall time writing a novel about Le Mans. I’m pretty sure it was not a classic. I grew older, and life got in the way.  

In 2023, after a health scare, I made up my mind. I am going to Le Mans next year. I can wait no longer. I called a travel agency in London that specializes in motorsport travel and booked lodging at the track and bought a race ticket. Friends who had been there inundated me with advice. I don’t think I could have navigated the Paris Metro without their help. 

While I spent the entire time on an emotional high, there were three times when my excitement boiled over and spilled out of my eyes. I entered the track for the first time on the Sunday before the race. The first step through the gate onto that hallowed ground ended a 65 year wait. The track was still a mile away, but I had made it.  

The next day at the museum two of my favorite cars of all time- the 1959 Shelby Cobra and the 1970 Gulf Porsche sat silently and proudly, anxious  to Have their engines roar to life again and roll onto the circuit just a few hundred feet away.  

I had eagerly awaited and dreaded race day. I knew containing my feelings would be a challenge. I told myself I had control, and I enjoyed the opening ceremonies until the first notes of La Marseilles. Control failure.  

The start of the race calmed me down. I took in as much of the track as I could, defying the intermittent rain and the long tram lines. Twenty-four hours goes by quickly when you want it to last forever.  

Everything was just as I had pictured, and in many ways the event was even better than I had imagined.  

All dreams must end, and it seemed that just a minute later I was in Charles de Gaulle airport boarding my flight home.