This started with a race.

Some people inherit traditions.

I inherited the Month of May.

I’ve loved the Indianapolis 500 for as long as I can remember, long before I understood why it mattered so much to the adults around me. It’s loud and chaotic and emotional and somehow deeply personal all at the same time. Even now, when I hear the engines or see the track in the spring, it feels like something inside me wakes up.

And eventually, without me planning it — that love found its way into a story.