Some people play padel on Wednesdays. We went to the Serres circuit.

Some people spend Wednesday morning playing tennis. Others play padel. Some spend an hour in the gym before their day begins.

We took a coffee in hand, turned the key and set off for Serres.

We left Thessaloniki a little after nine. The sun was already up, the traffic was normal, and the drive felt like one of those small escapes that need no excuse. There was no big event, no crowd of thousands. An open track day, a practice day. A handful of people who woke up that morning and decided to give a few hours to the thing they love.

Just before ten we drove through the circuit gate.

The magic is in the breaks

The older I get, the more I realise that the magic of a track day lives in the first coffee of the morning. In the smell of brakes that have just come up to temperature. In the conversations in the paddock. In the smile of a stranger who comes over to tell you he likes your car. In the rider who has just climbed off his bike and shares with you exactly the same impatience for the next session.

Different cars. Different bikes. Different lives.

Same passion.

That morning we did two twenty-minute sessions. About thirty laps in total. Nothing extreme. Nothing that needs professional skills or a racing budget. The entry cost about as much as a good dinner in town.

The biggest misunderstanding

And that's where one of the biggest misunderstandings about motorsport lies.

A lot of people believe that to go on track you need a hugely expensive car, racing tyres, suspension that costs thousands and a bank account with no limit.

You need none of that.

You need a car you love.

You need to love the sound of the engine as it climbs through the revs. To smile when you find your rhythm. To be impatient to get back out as soon as the session ends.

It doesn't matter whether you drive a Porsche, an MX-5, a MINI, a BMW or the everyday hatchback that takes you to work every morning.

It only cares about welcoming you safely.

And maybe that's the most important thing of all. Because when we learn to let out our curiosity, our enthusiasm and our need to drive fast in a place built precisely for that, the roads get better for everyone.

The track isn't a place to show off. It isn't a contest over who has the most horsepower. It isn't an ego game.

It's a place where you can explore the limits of your car, and above all your own, without putting anyone at risk.

What I remember

And the truth is that at the end of the day nobody remembers the lap time.

I don't remember how fast we went into T1. I don't remember how many tenths we found in one corner or another.

But I remember the sweat when I took my helmet off. I remember my heart rate taking a few minutes to come down. I remember the smile that refused to leave our faces.

I remember the coffee after the session. The stories. The conversations. The people.

Our version of exercise

And as we drove back to Thessaloniki a little later, I was thinking that this Wednesday wasn't so different from tennis, padel or the gym after all.

It was simply our version of exercise. Our therapy. Our small escape from everyday life.

So if you love cars, don't wait until you have the perfect one. Don't wait for the ideal tyres. Don't wait for the right moment.

Take a friend, a coffee in hand, and go to the track.

Not to prove anything. Not to be the fastest. But to remember why you fell in love with driving in the first place.

Because sometimes thirty laps, a coffee and a Wednesday morning in Serres are worth more than whole weeks of ordinary life.