"You don't think it is possible to get by on just driving skill alone?" asked Woody. "I mean, suppose there was a man who was just naturally a good driver. But he really didn't trust himself. Wouldn't he still show up pretty well on the track?"
"He would for a while," said Randy, "but after, say, half a dozen races, he'd be fighting himself. He might think he was racing the car ahead. But he'd really be racing the guy within him. One part would be telling him to go ahead and take a few chances and rely on his skill in getting through. The other part would be telling him to save his skin and not take any risks.
"That's where the real testing comes in, of course. But I've seen some good men crack up, fighting themselves like that. They'd have been a lot better off if they never went in for racing in the first place. Unless they win a victory over themselves and achieve self-confidence, they remain miserable for the rest of their lives. They drop out of racing. But they can never be happy."
"What about fear?" said Woody. "I mean you've been in a couple of accidents. Didn't that make you real scared the next time you drove?"
"It certainly did and does," replied Randy. "But self-confidence doesn't mean that a man is without fear. You've got to be afraid, to get any self-confidence that comes from overcoming fear. But some people never make it. They spend the rest of their lives doubting their own abilities.
"The time I cracked up and had my foot amputated, I broke out in a cold sweat whenever I thought of racing again. All my friends advised me to give up the game. On the surface, it would have been the sensible thing to do. But they did not realize that if I quit, it would have been a victory for fear, and I would have to live with it for the rest of my life."
Up to this point Woody had been on the verge of confessing his own fears to Randy. But now he found he could not do so. This seemed to be a battle he had to fight alone. It was one with which none of his friends could help him. He realized dimly that men always fight their battles alone—not just in racing cars but in their daily living. They alone can make the critical decisions, and nobody can help with them.
"How do you feel about the Black Tiger now?" Woody asked instead of mentioning his own fears.
"To be honest with you, I'm scared stiff," said Randy with a laugh. "If I wasn't scared, I might put off racing her for a little while. But if I postponed it now, though other people might say I had good reasons, I'd know that the real reason was fear. And then I might never race again." Woody did say that he was always scared himself when he got behind the steering wheel of the MG. But he didn't say that he remained scared all through the race and deliberately neglected chances to pass other cars because he was afraid to take them. He felt that both Randy and Rocky would be contemptuous of him if he did. And he wanted them both to have a good opinion of him.
A month remained before the Santa Barbara race. It was a pretty miserable month for Woody. He got nervous and a little irritable, which was unusual for him. Both his father and mother noticed the change in him, and one evening his father put down his paper, took off his glasses with a swift decision, and nodded to Woody's mother, who left the room. When she had gone, Mr. Hartford said, "Woody, your mother and I are both worried about you. You're not eating much, and you seem nervous all the time. Is there anything the matter?"