Adventures of a Wandering Thirtysomething

When Matt and I were getting ready to take our first relocation exploration trip to the South, I spoke to a co-worker from Virginia about what it might be like to live here. After he shared many of the great attributes of the South, I asked him about going to a NASCAR race that was in town the weekend we were going to be visiting. His eyes got big and he said very firmly, “Don’t go to a NASCAR race. You’re not ready for it. What you see will scare you away from ever wanting to live in the South.” Point taken.

Fast forward two years to my new job, which has me leading PR for a client that is a NASCAR sponsor. Despite the adamant warning against exposing myself to the lowest form of Southern culture, the writing was on the wall that my redneck-free days were numbered.

So last week I made the trek up to Sparta, Kentucky, for my first NASCAR event with my client and the driver they sponsor. Thankfully all of my assumptions of what NASCAR fans must enjoy doing – playing cornhole, stuffing their faces with cheap food, and generally making asses of themselves – was spot on, and the event was a huge success.

I never made it inside the racetrack to actually watch the race, but what I did see and experience while at the event and outside the racetrack was about all my poor eyes and ears could take. NASCAR requires a certain breed of people we just don’t have up north, so for you Northerners, allow me to share what you’re missing out on:

There is no denying that it was, by far, one of the most low-brow things I have ever done, but I managed to suppress my general disdain for things this American and actually have a good time. Yes, I said it. I had fun…at NASCAR. I wouldn’t call myself Southern yet, but I’m slowly making my way toward it one redneck step at a time.