Countless times throughout my childhood, and even later, I heard my parents say, What a hard-headed daughter we have! Thankfully, they were right. I decided to write this book because I have an important message for you. And also because, selfishly, I never want to forget what this accident has meant to me.
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Countless times throughout my childhood, and even later, I heard my parents say, What a hard-headed daughter we have!
Thankfully, they were right. I decided to write this book because I have an important message for you. And also because, selfishly, I never want to forget what this accident has meant to me.
It allows you to feel every heartbeat as if it were your first and to live a more alert, happier, more meaningful and aware life. I got out of bed because, like so many other nights, I feel a pain in my chest that no medicine can relieve.
Now I feel their grief almost as if it were my own, and I feel a bitter yet healthy pain when I try to rest and let my mind go blank. You may be thinking, It must be tough! If we can win the race back to life and stay on the track, so can you. No, this accident cannot be forgotten. What I need to say is that until your very last breath, you can decide to go on fighting or to jump ship.
And yet I was battling in that operating room to a point of exhaustion beyond words. And yes, I decided to keep on fighting. My brain dreamt a different reality. But, you know what? That dream was my life, who I am, and I was sure that the people I love were there with me.
From my experience, I would say that to some extent, dying is also a decision. I no longer like to watch violent films: they affect me much more than before. A gaze means much more to me now than a diamond. I hope that without having an accident like mine, you can feel the joy of being alive and enjoy the gift of life. I feel I need silence, rest. I want them to stop, to finish. I plead without words for them to leave me alone.
It must be part of the test: I have to keep them off me by moving the accelerator and the brake pedals with my feet, a kind of reflex action, while my head keeps giving them all the information they need…. We need you to endure it for as long as you can. They tell me that Lewis Hamilton, who was the last one to do it, lasted for eight hours.
I have to better his mark, or at least equal those eight endless hours. All I know is that I was brought in an air ambulance where my vital statistics were monitored before the test started so that no information would be lost: the typical Formula One procedure, absolute control. I know that Rodrigo, my boyfriend, was in the plane too, but he acted as if he were a doctor, talking about my physical condition with someone else and not talking to me at all.
Hours go by and the suffering gets worse and worse. I feel like telling her, Enough! Cut it out! All right then, if it has to be that way, and I let them finish. How was I going to refuse that? They tell me, Go ahead, pee, and I think to myself, How am I going to pee on myself, in front of all these people? I want to get out of here! I want to leave this damn exam behind. So, I pee on myself, terribly embarrassed, and they take me out of there.
At the time, believing that I was taking a mental exam for the FIA that would prove my worth as a Formula One driver was the challenge I needed to go on living. Two weeks before my accident I was at McLaren, where I underwent a medical and physical check-up to measure my performance.
They did all the tests in the same day. The bicycle stress test, where soaked in sweat I pedalled until my legs no longer responded, was conducted in a room with two trainers and a computer logging the data. After that I had to do a series of pull-ups, squats, abdominals, lumbar exercises and a running speed test.
Then, after I was good and tired, I had to do some reflex and concentration tests sitting in front of a computer so they could record my reactions and decision-making under those circumstances. All the while, I had to deal with the added stress of knowing that I was the first woman to be there and that my scores would be compared to those of the most successful drivers: Fernando Alonso, Lewis Hamilton and Jenson Button.
All that, however, was nothing compared to the exhaustion I felt when I returned from my life-saving journey in the operating room. I was so weary that I was unable to turn over in bed without help. Upload Sign In Join. Create a List. Download to App. Length: pages 2 hours. Far from becoming discouraged, her tenacity and courage proved more powerful than that tragic event.
Formula One racing driver "Extremely competitive, fast and with great determination. Formula One racing driver "You have always been an example because of your tenacity and determination to reach the top, you have my complete admiration.
President of the Women in Motorsport Commission of FIA "She has given us a master class in struggle, suffering and work at each point in her life. Formula One racing driver "Now, her life is no longer measured in milliseconds, it's measured in smiles. Related Categories. The accident Addenbrooke Hospital, England, 3 July Dreaming keeps us alive I feel I need silence, rest. I was in a coma for 5 days and. Start your free 30 days. Page 1 of 1.
El ocaso de los ídolos o cómo se filosofa a martillazos
Those English psychologists, who up to the present are the only philosophers who are to be thanked for any endeavour to get as far as a history of the origin of morality—these men, I say, offer us in their own personalities no paltry problem;—they even have, if I am to be quite frank about it, in their capacity of living riddles, an advantage over their books—they themselves are interesting! These English psychologists—what do they really mean? Is it an instinct for human disparagement somewhat sinister, vulgar, and malignant, or perhaps incomprehensible even to itself? But I am told that it is simply a case of old frigid and tedious frogs crawling and hopping around men and inside men, as if they were as thoroughly at home there, as they would be in a swamp. I am opposed to this statement, nay, I do not believe it; and if, in the impossibility of knowledge, one is permitted to wish, so do I wish from my heart that just the converse metaphor should apply, and that these analysts with their psychological microscopes should be, at bottom, brave, proud, and magnanimous animals who know how to bridle both their hearts and their smarts, and have specifically trained themselves to sacrifice what is desirable to what is true, any truth in fact, even the simple, bitter, ugly, repulsive, unchristian, and immoral truths—for there are truths of that description. All honour, then, to the noble spirits who would fain dominate these historians of morality. But it is certainly a pity that they lack the historical sense itself, that they themselves are quite deserted by all the beneficent spirits of history.
The Genealogy of Morals