Every mother wonders if she’ll ever have the energy for the great obsessions of youth again

I avoided it for almost 20 years, claiming it was too expensive and too boring. When I first started watching it, Alain Prost and Ayrton Senna were neck and neck, and Michael Schumacher had his first ride with Jordan.

Like any self-respecting F1 fan, I thought Ayrton Senna’s death in 1994 was among the worst that could happen. In his honour, I decided to become a racing driver and even went to the same racing school as Prost in the south of France – working in a car factory to make a living.

I’ve also raced in the UK, worked for a sports TV station, worked at Grands Prix and even spent time alone with Ayrton Senna’s jacket. I haven’t missed a race for over a decade and have read every F1 book from the early days to the late 1990’s.

But then it stopped. I dabbled more with other obsessions — like mountain sports, soccer, and getting wasted — which I did with the same wholehearted dedication.

And when I became a parent, I wondered if I would ever have the time, money, or inclination to pursue such passions again.

But I consoled myself: what if I don’t worship the German football team like I used to, or that I now care more about the broken towel rail than a lost climber on Nanga Parbat?

After all, record collections are sold, badminton rackets gather dust and racing ambitions are parked as soon as the little ones are there. So life is.

Talk of distant adventures would be replaced by playground babble about expensive vacuum cleaners. As it turns out, I love talking about vacuums, but it got me thinking about other moms — especially single ones and the healthy obsessions they might harbor outside the home.

The maternity trap can lead mothers to neglect or even forget about their own best interests. But on the other end of the scale, we’re lost in the “self-obsession” epoch that began in 2016.

It perpetuates self-reflection, egocentricity, navel-gazing, and general victimhood. “We should talk about it…” is the mantra that sums it all up best.

But the problem here, of course, is when everyone is talking, who is listening?

Most of us just keep going.

My daughter is currently coming home from school with conjunctivitis.

As a single parent, it’s all on me, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. We have a history of collective residual trauma in Ireland and we are almost expected to be victims, not victors.

But single mothers don’t have time for such forbearance.

Paddling with your own canoe also has a great advantage.

For example, I don’t have to deal with other people’s faults, moods, or family issues. I don’t have to eat potatoes every night (I hear men want that), and if I wanted to, I could build a shrine to Niki Lauda. ‘This kitchen is dedicated to the memory of Niki Lauda, ​​who was always 15 minutes early.’

I would like to become like Mr. Lauda, ​​but I have to admit that I am still working on it.

In the absence of family friends on long bank holiday weekends, of which there are many these days, my renewed Formula 1 obsession couldn’t have come at a better time.

That means I have something to do when my daughter is sleeping. Although she benefits from my hobbies when she wakes up.

Then there’s my mental health. As a parent and mother, inflation, existential angst, uncertainty, war and plague are not mitigated – but amplified by single status.

But constantly focusing on the bad doesn’t do anyone any favors.

A scientific work called Fixed-effects analyzes of time-varying associations between hobbies and depression by authors from University College London found that participants with a hobby had “fewer depressive symptoms.”

A US study from Indiana before the pandemic in 2018 found that people who spend time outdoors are more mentally stable.

I’m planning a trip to the Monaco GP with my daughter – doing laundry in between.

My old-new obsession will happily coexist with my others.

Having a healthy brain filled with thoughts of adrenaline pumping sports while participating in everyday life is a gift, and it’s one I’m happy to share.

Shortly before Mother’s Day I fantasize – if I have to be driven around the bend, then at least in a Ferrari, preferably with the warm wind in my hair.