The winter between my first and second karting seasons was dedicated to transformation.
Not just physical transformation, though that was happening too. My body was growing, filling out, muscles developing through a carefully structured training program that Marc had designed with input from pediatric sports medicine specialists. Swimming three times a week. Gymnastics twice a week for core strength and flexibility. Running and cycling for cardiovascular fitness. All disguised as normal childhood activities, but all designed with one purpose in mind.
No, the real transformation was mental.
I was learning what it meant to be a competitor, not just someone who watched competition from the outside. The difference between criticizing drivers on Twitter and actually experiencing the pressure, the fear, the split-second decisions that separated good races from disasters.
"You're overthinking," Marc said during one of our winter training sessions. We were in an indoor karting facility, working on specific techniques during the off-season. "I can see it in your inputs. You're thinking about what you should do instead of just doing it."
"How do I stop thinking?" I asked, frustrated. It was a legitimate question. My adult consciousness was both my greatest advantage and my biggest obstacle. I knew too much, understood too much, analyzed too much.
"You don't stop thinking. You practice until thinking becomes instinct. Until your hands do what needs to be done before your brain finishes processing." He demonstrated on a steering wheel mockup, his movements fluid and automatic. "Feel, don't think. React, don't analyze."
It was easier said than done when you had twenty-eight years of habit telling you to analyze everything.
[System Note: He's right, you know.]
[You're treating racing like a math problem. It's not. It's art and science combined.]
[The data and knowledge are tools. But at some point, you need to trust your instincts.]
[Training Protocol Updated: Instinct Development]
[New Focus: Reducing conscious thought, increasing automatic response]
[Method: Repetition until muscle memory overrides mental processing]
[This will feel counterintuitive for someone with your analytical tendencies. Do it anyway.]
The System was implementing what it called "instinct training"—scenarios where I had to react without time to think. Sudden obstacles appearing in my vision during practice. Marc calling out maneuvers with no warning. Exercises designed to bypass my adult consciousness and force my body to respond automatically.
It was exhausting and occasionally terrifying, but it worked. Slowly, incrementally, my reactions became faster, my inputs smoother, my driving more natural.
Lawrence watched these sessions with increasing interest. He'd always been supportive, but now I could see him truly investing in the idea of me as a serious racing prospect. He started attending racing industry conferences, networking with team owners and engineers, learning the business side of motorsport.
"If we're going to do this properly," he told Claire one evening, "we need to understand the system. How drivers progress, which teams develop talent best, what it takes to reach Formula 1."
"Formula 1?" Claire's voice pitched up. "Lawrence, he's five. He just finished his first karting season."
"I know. But these things take planning. The drivers who make it to F1 don't get there by accident. They have pathways, support structures, development plans starting from childhood."
"He's a child. Can we let him be a child?"
"He is being a child. A child who loves racing and happens to be talented at it. Would you rather I ignore that talent?"
I listened from the top of the stairs, supposedly in bed but actually eavesdropping on yet another conversation about my future. These discussions had become more frequent as my racing success made them less hypothetical.
Chloe appeared beside me, also listening. At nine years old, she'd developed a keen understanding of family dynamics and the tensions that sometimes arose around my racing.
"They're fighting about you again," she whispered.
"They're not fighting. They're discussing."
"Mama's scared. She doesn't want you to get hurt."
"I know."
"Papa's excited. He sees you becoming something big."
"I know that too."
Chloe was quiet for a moment, then asked, "What do you want, Lance? Really?"
It was a good question. What did I want? In my previous life, I'd wanted to prove I was right, to validate my opinions, to show that I could do what I'd claimed others couldn't. But now, actually living this life, actually racing, was it still about proving something?
"I want to race," I said honestly. "I want to be good at it. I want to see how far I can go."
"That's a better answer than I expected."
"What did you expect?"
"I thought you'd say you wanted to win everything or be famous or something."
"Winning would be nice," I admitted. "But mostly I just want to race. The rest is just... stuff that comes with it."
Chloe smiled. "You're weird for a five-year-old."
"You have no idea," I muttered.
[Age: 6 Years Old - Season 2 Beginning]
[Class: Junior (age 7-12 typical)]
[Your Age: 6 (youngest in class)]
[Competition Level: Significantly higher than previous season]
[Number of Competitors: 18]
[Returning Champions from previous Junior seasons: 4]
[Your Experience: 7 races total]
[Their Average Experience: 2-3 seasons]
[Assessment: You're in over your head on paper. Let's see about reality.]
The first race of the Junior season was a wake-up call.
I qualified thirteenth out of eighteen. Not because I was slow in absolute terms, but because everyone else was faster. These were drivers with years of experience, bigger bodies that could handle the more powerful karts better, advanced techniques that I was still learning.
The race itself was brutal. Aggressive defending, hard racing, drivers who knew every trick to hold position. I finished eleventh, got passed multiple times, struggled to keep pace with the lead group.
It was humbling in ways my first season hadn't been.
"Tough race," Marc said afterward, but he didn't look disappointed. "What did you learn?"
"They're better than me."
"Right now, yes. But specifically, what are they doing that you're not?"
I thought about it, replaying the race in my mind. "They're more aggressive. They take risks I'm not taking. They use the whole track, even the dirty parts. They defend harder, pass more aggressively."
"Good observations. Now, should you copy them exactly?"
"No. I'm smaller, lighter. I need to race smarter, not harder."
Marc smiled. "Exactly. You're not going to out-muscle these drivers. You need to out-drive them. Find the advantages that come with being smaller, use them."
[Analysis: Race 1, Season 2]
[Result: 11th of 18]
[Qualifying: 13th]
[Gap to Winner: 8.4 seconds over 15 laps]
[Assessment: Outclassed but not outmatched]
[Key Observation: You were consistent. Your lap times were steady. You just need to be consistently faster.]
[Advantages Being Smaller:]
Lower center of gravity in corners Less mass to slow down (better braking in theory) Can take tighter lines through technical sections Less wind resistance (minimal but exists)
[Disadvantages Being Smaller:]
Less strength for muscling the kart Harder to reach optimal pedal pressure Easier to be intimidated physically Less weight can mean less mechanical grip
[Solution: Work with what you have, not what you wish you had]
The next few races were exercises in learning through adversity. I finished tenth, ninth, twelfth, eighth. Respectable finishes for the youngest driver in the field, but not what I wanted. Not what I'd promised myself.
I needed to win. Not just finish well, but actually win. Prove that the first season's success wasn't a fluke, that I belonged at this level.
But winning was harder than I'd imagined.
The breakthrough came at race six, mid-season, at a track I'd been studying obsessively. It was technical, tight, with several slow corners where my smaller size and tighter lines could be advantages. Weather forecast called for partially cloudy with possible rain.
I qualified fifth. Best qualifying position of the season, but still not pole. The race started dry, and I maintained position through the first few laps, learning the pace, studying the drivers ahead.
Then, lap seven, light rain started falling.
[Weather Alert: Rain Beginning]
[Track Condition: Transitioning to Wet]
[Tire Compound: Dry (everyone)]
[Strategic Window: Open]
[Opportunity: Available]
[Note: Rain is the great equalizer. Experience matters less when nobody has perfect grip.]
Most drivers immediately became cautious, backing off their pace, avoiding the wet patches forming on track. But I remembered something from my previous life, from watching countless wet-weather races.
Rain rewards bravery and punishes hesitation.
I kept my pace up, finding grip where others were avoiding risk. The racing line was slippery now, but the dirty parts of the track, unused in the dry, often had more grip in light rain because they weren't coated in rubber that became slick when wet.
Marc had taught me about wet-weather lines. Now I put that knowledge into practice.
I passed fourth place in turn three, taking an outside line that had more grip. Passed third place two laps later by braking later into the hairpin, trusting the damp track to provide stopping power.
Second place was harder. He was experienced, knew wet-weather racing, defended well. But I was lighter, could change direction faster in the slippery conditions. I faked to the inside, he defended, I switched to the outside and made it stick.
Now there was just the leader ahead of me. He'd built a three-second gap before the rain started, but I was catching him, half a second per lap, sometimes more.
Three laps remaining.
Gap: 1.8 seconds.
Two laps remaining.
Gap: 0.9 seconds.
Final lap.
I was on his gearbox, could see him checking his mirrors, see his line getting defensive. But defensive meant slow, and slow meant opportunity.
Into the final sector, the technical section where I'd been fastest all race. He took the normal line, played it safe.
I took the wet line, the one that required commitment and trust. Dove to the inside of the penultimate corner, late braking, felt the kart slide but kept it controlled, got better exit speed.
We were side by side heading into the final corner.
I had the inside line. He had track position.
This was it. First win or another second place.
I braked as late as I dared, held the inside, felt him alongside, felt his kart inches from mine. We turned in together, both fighting for the apex.
I got there first.
By centimeters, maybe. But first.
He had to back out or we'd crash. He backed out.
I held the line through the exit, felt him right behind me, kept the kart straight, didn't make any mistakes.
Crossed the finish line in first place.
By 0.3 seconds.
My first win.
[RACE WIN ACHIEVED]
[Position: 1st of 18]
[Margin: 0.3 seconds]
[Fastest Lap: Yes]
[Age: 6 years old]
[Status: WINNER]
[Assessment: That was incredible racing. Calculated risks, perfect execution, wet-weather mastery.]
[You're not just fast. You're actually good at this.]
I pulled into the pit area, and before I could even get out of the kart, Chloe was there, screaming, her banner waving frantically. Claire was crying again, but these were happy tears. Lawrence stood with his arms raised, actually cheering, his usual composure completely abandoned.
Marc helped me out of the kart, and I pulled off my helmet to find my hands shaking, adrenaline coursing through every nerve.
"You won," Marc said, grinning hugely. "Lance, you actually won. Against drivers twice your age, in the rain, with a pass on the final lap. That was championship-level racing."
"I won," I repeated, the reality sinking in. "I actually won."
The podium ceremony was surreal. Standing on the top step, receiving the trophy, listening to the small crowd applaud. The second and third place drivers—both nine years old—stood beside me, looking at me with new respect.
"Good race," the second-place driver said. "That pass was brave. I didn't think you'd make it."
"Neither did I," I admitted honestly.
He laughed. "You're weird, kid. But you're fast."
During the trophy presentation, I looked down at my family. Chloe was taking pictures with a disposable camera Claire had bought her. Lawrence was talking to other parents, probably fielding questions about my training. Claire was still wiping her eyes, smiling despite herself.
This was what winning felt like. Not the validation I'd sought in my previous life through Twitter arguments, but actual, earned victory. The result of months of training, learning, failing, and improving.
It felt better than I'd imagined.
[First Win: Recorded]
[Age: 6 years, 3 months]
[Career Wins: 1]
[Career Podiums: 3]
[Status: Proven Winner]
[Note: This changes things. You're not just the young kid anymore. You're a legitimate competitor.]
[Expect the competition to take you more seriously now. Which means racing will get harder, not easier.]
The win changed the dynamics of the championship. Other drivers stopped seeing me as a cute novelty and started seeing me as a threat. Racing became more aggressive, defending more physical, passes more contested.
I loved it.
Race seven: Third place. Solid podium, clean racing.
Race eight: Fifth place. Made a mistake trying to force a pass, dropped positions, fought back.
Race nine: Second place. Led for most of the race, got passed with two laps remaining by a driver with fresh tires and more pace.
Race ten: Won again. Dominant performance in dry conditions, led from pole position, fastest lap.
Race eleven: Fourth place. Mechanical issue dropped me from contention, but finished strong.
Race twelve: Third place. Another podium, consistent pace, clean weekend.
The season finale approached with me sitting third in the championship standings. The top two were both nine years old with multiple seasons of experience. Third place would be my best championship finish, but there was a mathematical possibility, if results fell right, that I could finish second.
"Don't think about the championship," Marc advised during the pre-race briefing. "Just drive your race. Chase the positions, not the points."
"But if I finish second and the leader finishes fifth, and the second-place driver finishes lower than third—"
"Stop." Marc put a hand on my shoulder. "I know you can do the math. But math doesn't help you drive faster. Focus on the race. Everything else will sort itself out."
[Season Finale - Championship Standings:]
[Position 1: 287 points (9 years old, 3rd season)]
[Position 2: 264 points (9 years old, 2nd season)]
[Position 3: 249 points (You - 6 years old, 2nd season)]
[Mathematical Scenarios for You to Finish 2nd:]You must win. Current 2nd place must finish 4th or lower. Current 1st place must finish 8th or lower.
[Probability: Low but not impossible]
[Realistic Goal: Win the race. Let the championship sort itself.]
I qualified second. Front row start, with only the championship leader ahead of me. The second-place championship driver qualified fourth.
Everything was possible.
The race start was clean. I stayed with the leader through the first few corners, studying his lines, learning his rhythm. He was fast, experienced, knew how to manage a race.
But I was motivated by something he wasn't. This was my chance to prove that the first win wasn't luck, that I deserved to be considered among the best in the class regardless of age.
Lap five, I made my move. Dive to the inside of turn seven, late braking, committed to the corner. We went through side by side, wheel to wheel, neither giving an inch.
I had better exit speed. Took the lead.
Now I just had to hold it.
The leader stayed close, pressuring me, looking for mistakes. But I'd learned from Marc, from the System, from all the hours of practice. Smooth inputs, consistent lines, no errors to capitalize on.
Lap after lap, maintaining the gap, managing the lead.
Behind us, the fourth-place qualifier was making moves, passing the third-place driver, closing on the second-place championship contender. The championship math was playing out in real-time, but I couldn't think about it. Had to focus on my race.
Final lap.
I crossed the line in first place. My third win of the season.
The leader finished second, right behind me. The championship second-place driver finished fifth.
Which meant... I needed to do math. Points for first place, points for his fifth place, gap in championship...
Marc was already calculating when I got back to the pit. "You finished second in the championship," he said, showing me the timing sheets. "By six points."
Second in the championship. As a six-year-old. In my second season. Against drivers up to twelve years old with years more experience.
"Not bad for a rich kid with advantages," I muttered, thinking of all the comments I'd heard throughout the season.
"What was that?" Marc asked.
"Nothing. Just... second place is good."
"Second place is exceptional. Lance, do you understand what you accomplished this season?" Marc pulled up the full results. "Three wins. Eight podiums. Second in the championship. You weren't even supposed to be competitive in this class, and you finished ahead of drivers twice your age."
The championship ceremony was bigger than the individual race podiums. All the drivers and families gathered, trophies presented, season achievements celebrated.
I stood on the second step, the championship leader to my right, the third-place finisher to my left. Both of them were nine years old. Both had multiple seasons of experience.
And I'd beaten one of them in the final standings.
"You're going to be trouble in a few years," the champion said during the photo session. "When you're my age? Yeah, you're going to be really fast."
"Thanks."
"It's not a compliment. It's a warning." But he was smiling. "Good season, Lance."
"You too."
That evening, Lawrence took the family to a nice restaurant to celebrate. Not just any restaurant, but one of the best in Montreal, the kind of place that required reservations weeks in advance and where the chef was locally famous.
We were seated at a prominent table, and the sommelier brought wine for my parents while Chloe and I received fancy sparkling juice in wine glasses.
"To Lance," Lawrence said, raising his glass. "Second in the championship. Three wins. Eight podiums. An extraordinary season."
"To Lance!" Chloe echoed enthusiastically.
We clinked glasses, and Claire smiled despite the worry that never quite left her eyes when she thought about my racing.
The food arrived, and I found myself analyzing each dish automatically. The technique was good, presentation excellent, but the seasoning on the fish was slightly off, and the sauce had broken slightly from being held too long.
"What do you think, mon chou?" Claire asked, noticing my expression.
"It's good," I said diplomatically. "The fish is cooked perfectly. The sauce just needs to be fresher, not held."
A voice came from behind us. "The young critic strikes again."
We turned to find the chef himself standing there, a tall man in his fifties with the bearing of someone used to being the best in the room.
"I heard we had a special guest," he continued. "Lawrence Stroll's son, the young racing driver and apparently also a food expert?"
Lawrence stood, shaking the chef's hand. "Chef Beaumont. This is my son, Lance. He's developed quite the palate."
"So I've heard. The story about him critiquing his mother's coq au vin has made the rounds among local chefs." Chef Beaumont crouched to my level. "Tell me, young man, what's wrong with my sauce?"
I hesitated. This was a famous chef, a professional, someone with decades of experience. But he'd asked directly.
"It's broken. Just a little. The emulsion separated because it was held too warm for too long. If you made it fresh right before plating, it would be perfect."
Chef Beaumont stared at me for a long moment, then started laughing. "He's right. We prepare the sauce in advance during busy service, hold it warm. Sometimes it breaks slightly." He stood. "Six years old and you can identify a broken emulsion. What else can you do?"
"I can cook," I said simply.
"Can you now? What's your signature dish?"
I thought about it. What could I claim as a signature at age six? "Boeuf bourguignon. And I make good hollandaise."
"Good hollandaise? That's one of the mother sauces. Most home cooks can't make it properly." He looked at Lawrence and Claire. "Would you permit me to test him? Tomorrow, if you're available, bring him to my kitchen. Let's see what this prodigy can actually do."
Lawrence and Claire exchanged glances. This was unexpected, but potentially valuable. My culinary abilities were becoming almost as notable as my racing.
"If Lance wants to," Lawrence said.
I did want to. Racing was my primary focus, but cooking was something I genuinely enjoyed, a skill that came naturally thanks to the System's gift from God.
"Yes please," I said.
"Tomorrow at two o'clock then. I'll have ingredients ready." Chef Beaumont smiled. "This should be interesting."
[New Quest Unlocked: Chef's Challenge]
[Objective: Demonstrate culinary skills to professional chef]
[Difficulty: Medium (you have the knowledge, but physically executing is challenging at your size)]
[Reward: Validation of abilities, possible mentorship opportunity]
[Stakes: Your cooking reputation]
[Note: This could be another pathway opening. Racing isn't your only talent.]
The next afternoon, I found myself in the kitchen of one of Montreal's best restaurants, wearing an apron that had been folded and tied multiple times to fit my small frame.
Chef Beaumont had assembled ingredients for hollandaise and for boeuf bourguignon. He'd also invited two of his sous chefs to observe, word having spread that he was testing the "six-year-old food critic."
"Show me hollandaise first," he said, gesturing to the ingredients. "Fresh."
I approached the station, had to use a step stool to reach the counter properly, and began.
Egg yolks in a bowl over simmering water. Whisking constantly, never letting it get too hot or the eggs would scramble. Adding the clarified butter slowly, drop by drop at first, building the emulsion.
My hands were small, my arms not as strong as an adult's, but the technique was perfect. The knowledge was complete. I knew exactly what to do, even if doing it required more effort.
Lemon juice. A pinch of cayenne. Salt. Whisking until the consistency was right, the color was right, the texture was right.
I presented the hollandaise to Chef Beaumont. He took a spoon, tasted it, his expression neutral.
Then he turned to his sous chefs. "Perfect. Absolutely perfect. The consistency, the flavor balance, the temperature. This is textbook hollandaise."
He looked at me with new respect. "You weren't exaggerating. You can actually cook."
"I told you," I said simply.
"The boeuf bourguignon will take hours. I don't expect you to do the full dish. But show me your technique for searing the beef, building the fond, starting the sauce."
I did. Under the watchful eyes of professional chefs, I demonstrated proper searing technique, the importance of not crowding the pan, how to deglaze and build layers of flavor. I explained what I was doing in simple terms, but the execution was professional level.
When I finished, Chef Beaumont sat down on a stool, shaking his head. "This is impossible. You're six years old. Where did you learn this?"
"I just know it. Like how I know racing lines and braking points. I just understand food."
It was the best explanation I could give without revealing the truth about reincarnation and divine gifts.
"Impossible," he repeated, but he was smiling. "But I saw it with my own eyes." He stood. "Lance, how would you like to learn more? Come to my kitchen once a week. I'll teach you advanced techniques, show you how professional kitchens operate. Consider it... mentorship."
I looked at Lawrence and Claire, who'd been watching from the side. Claire nodded, Lawrence smiled.
"I'd like that," I said. "But racing is still first. Racing is what I want to do as a career."
"Of course. But every racing driver needs hobbies. Yours can be cooking at a professional level." Chef Beaumont extended his hand. "We have a deal."
I shook his hand, sealing an arrangement that would give me access to professional culinary training on top of everything else.
[New Skill Path Unlocked: Professional Culinary Training]
[Mentor: Chef Beaumont (Michelin-level chef)]
[Frequency: Once weekly]
[Focus: Advanced techniques, professional kitchen operations]
[Note: This is becoming more complex. Racing prodigy and culinary prodigy. You're building quite the reputation.]
[Just remember: Racing first. Always racing first. The cooking is the side quest, not the main mission.]
That evening, after we'd returned home and I was supposedly asleep, I lay in bed thinking about the day. The season finale, the championship second place, the unexpected connection with Chef Beaumont.
My life was taking shape in ways I hadn't fully planned. Racing was the focus, yes, but other aspects were developing too. The cooking, the family relationships, the reputation building.
In my previous life, I'd been one-dimensional. Just the F1 obsessive who lived online, criticized everyone, contributed nothing.
Now I was becoming multi-dimensional. A racing driver, yes, but also a chef, a son, a brother, a student of life.
It was better. Richer. More complete.
Chloe knocked softly on my door, peeking in. "You awake?"
"Yeah."
She came in, sat on the edge of my bed. "You had a good day. Championship podium and a famous chef wants to teach you."
"It was pretty good," I agreed.
"Do you ever miss just being a normal kid? Playing with toys, not worrying about racing or cooking or anything?"
It was a perceptive question. Did I miss normal childhood? The thing was, I'd already had a childhood in my previous life. This was my second one, and it was dramatically better even with all the complications.
"Sometimes," I admitted. "But I like racing more. And I like cooking. So even if it's complicated, it's good complicated."
"Good complicated," Chloe repeated. "I like that." She stood to leave, then paused. "You know I'm proud of you, right? Not just because you win races or cook fancy food. Because you're my brother and you're doing what you love."
"I know. Thanks, Chloe."
After she left, I stared at the ceiling for a while longer, processing everything.
[Age 6: Year in Review]
[Racing Achievements: Second in Junior championship, three wins, eight podiums, established as legitimate threat despite age]
[Culinary Development: Professional mentorship secured, abilities validated by Michelin-level chef]
[Personal Growth: Learning balance, developing multiple aspects of personality, maintaining family connections]
[Physical Development: Growing stronger, stamina improving, beginning to match older competitors physically]
[Mental Development: Learning instinct over analysis, trusting abilities, managing pressure]
[Social Development: Earning respect from competitors, building reputation in racing community]
[Year Assessment: Exceeded all reasonable expectations]
[Age 7 Goals: Win Junior championship, begin planning transition to next level, continue all-around development]
[Long-term Status: On track for eventual F1 career]
[Current Status: Becoming exactly who you claimed you could be]
[Mission Progress: Significant]
I closed my eyes, letting sleep take me. Tomorrow would bring new training, new challenges, new opportunities to improve.
But tonight, I could rest knowing I'd proven something important.
I wasn't just talk anymore.
I was actually doing it.
To be continued...
Author's Note: Chapter 6 covers Lance's age 6 year, featuring his move to Junior class, his first wins, finishing second in the championship, and gaining a professional culinary mentor. He's progressing from promising talent to proven competitor. Next chapter will likely cover age 7, pursuing the championship title, continued development, and beginning to look toward the next levels of racing. The foundation is complete—now we build toward dominance in youth karting before the eventual move to cars.