It wasn’t because I wasn’t quick any more, because I was. I was still quick, I still had the pace, and I still felt that even though the years of winning races, let alone Championships, were most likely behind me I was still doing a good job.
It was just that the life had taken its toll. The old boy not being there was a big part of it, but on top of that I was just tired. I mean, proper tired. Mentally drained. Which drained me physically as well. And what I didn’t want to do was let that fatigue affect the job I did. Although tired, I still enjoyed all aspects of life in Formula One, but I didn’t want to end up not enjoying it, making a half-arsed job of it. I didn’t want to end up not giving it 100 per cent.
Thus, I got to the point three years before I retired when I said to my mates and my family that I couldn’t do it any more. ‘I just want to stop racing.’
I’d had offers to race for other teams – three different ones in all – but nobody was able to offer me a car that could win races, or even be on the podium, so it just wasn’t worth it. Yes, there would still have been the competition with my teammate; there would still have been the sponsor work that I enjoy. But that’s not enough to compensate for not being competitive, and I definitely wouldn’t want to race in F1 if I wasn’t winning races. There’s little point. The bottom line is that it’s stress I don’t need for too little reward.
I’m asked now if I’d return if I was offered a drive that would guarantee me wins, and the answer is that I’d probably have a go, yes. If you have the opportunity to win, you take it. I can’t see Lewis retiring if he’s in a winning car, it just doesn’t happen like that. Why would you want to? If you’re mentally strong enough and you can take it, and – importantly – you’re winning, then you’re going to have more highs than lows, and that’s going to make it worth doing.
What I’d find more difficult to replace is that raw passion and excitement that a 24-year-old would bring to the game. So while on a good day I’d be great, I know that if I had a bad day I’d let things get to me the way they wouldn’t have done 15 or so years previously. I’d be questioning myself. Why am I doing this? Why am I putting myself through all this? Whereas a young kid is going to be, like, Right, that was a tough race, next time I need to do a better job.
And, to be honest, I know that in racing the bad days are going to outnumber the good days by a ratio of two to one (depending on what you’re driving, of course). I look at where I am right now, settled in LA with a fiancée and a baby, and I know that I don’t really want those bad days in my life.
Could I have taken time off? I guess so, but I’ve seen others do it and they’ve never been quite the same – even Michael Schumacher when he came back was not the same force by any means.
And so I left. Boom. Decided to explore my love of racing in other avenues, concentrate on different aspects of my life. And because everything had been done for me in F1, because all I’d had to focus on was driving, fitness and engineering, I suddenly had to become a grown-up. It was like my life had been in a state of suspended animation between the ages of 19 and 37. Big wake-up call.
But I did grow up, and I learnt so much. It was simple things. Putting down roots. Making a home. As I said, I’d never paid a bill in my life and suddenly I was pulling out my hair because they were coming out of nowhere. Before, when somebody else was doing all that for me, I didn’t really notice where the money was going, but now my eyes were open to how much I was paying on, say, storage or car insurance, and I could see that there was lot of money being wasted. It’s been a bit of an eye-opening experience.
Mainly, though, and at the risk of coming across all Californian for a moment, I’ve grown as a person. In fact, I think I’ve improved more as a human being in the last two years than I have in the rest of my life. And that’s all down to taking a step back from Formula One, changing my priorities, finding love with Brittny, being a dog-owner, becoming a father…
As well as diving headlong into the world of Super GT, I also landed a job with Sky.
First time was at Silverstone in 2018, and I remember just as I left home on the Wednesday before the race saying to Brit, ‘I’m nervous, weirdly.’
She was like, ‘That’s not weird. You’re out of your comfort zone. But you’ve just got to ask yourself, what’s the worst that can happen? What really is the worst that can happen?’
I looked at her like she was mad. ‘Well, I could make a complete dick of myself in front of millions of people watching.’
‘Like?’
‘I could stumble over my words.’
She shrugged.
‘Get my facts wrong.’
She shrugged.
‘Not talk when I’m supposed to talk, and talk when I’m not supposed to.’
She shrugged.
‘Look, Jenson, even if you do those things it won’t matter, because you’re not a broadcaster, you’re a racing driver. You’re not there to be slick. You’re there to bring the knowledge. Now go.’
All so true, of course. Getting someone’s name wrong, fumbling your words, making a mistake – so what? This is the white heat of a Grand Prix weekend. You’re there to be yourself in front of the cameras.
And so I went along with exactly that philosophy. Just be myself. Except a cool version of myself.
Anyway, what I discovered is that the way it normally works is that you have backup. So I’m the pundit, if you like, and I’m standing there with the regular presenter, usually Simon Lazenby, who in terms of broadcasting does all the heavy lifting.
The weirdest thing is that you hear everything in your earpiece, so, ‘Three, two, one…’ and then Lazenby will open the show before asking me a question.
The most difficult thing to get your head around is talking and maintaining the thread of whatever it is you’re talking about, while in your ear someone is providing you with instructions. So there you are going, ‘Blah, blah, Lewis, blah, blah, Sebastian, blah, blah, Max,’ while in your ear someone in a distant studio is saying. ‘Okay, counting down. Fifteen seconds before you’re off-air. And now ten… Nine… Eight…’
That was the worst it got, and certainly that first weekend I was always glad to hand back to Lazenby for whom I developed serious respect, thinking, I just couldn’t do what he’s doing, the amount of pressure he’s under having to open the show, close it, marshal everything else that’s happening in between and do it all with the skill of a seasoned ringmaster.
And it’s funny because when I was a racing driver I’d be opposite these guys thinking they’re were doing a simple, straightforward interview. Now I’m on the other side of the fence, I’m suddenly aware of the fact that the interviewer is in fact juggling several balls at once. Who knew?
The next challenge was when they’d get me to interview a driver. Just me and the driver. After qualifying at the Spanish Grand Prix, I went on to the grid and the top-three drivers drove down, all happy, got out of their cars, waving to the crowd, and then it went to a live worldwide feed, just me with the microphone, no one else, somebody would count me down, and it would just be me asking the drivers with no Lazenby to back me up, no one to hand off to if you’re lost for words or don’t know which direction to go in.
So I’m walking up to Valtteri Bottas who qualified on pole and it was funny because he’s waving at the crowd, then he looks at me and he knows who I am and there’s a little smile on his face because we’ve raced together for so many years, and in the past we would have been stood close to one another dealing with interviewers, and now I’m the one asking the stupid questions.
We moved to Lewis and he was a little bit disappointed to be second, but, again, it was cool and there was that connection between us because we’re both drivers. After that it was Sebastian, and in fact it was after that interview that he suggested swapping helmets at the next race.
And I got through it. I did it.
What’s strange is that when I was a driver I’d chat to other drivers about making that move from driving to TV coverage and we all agreed that we’d never want to. Poacher turning gamekeeper and all that.
But it’s weird because once you’ve been out of the sport for a couple of years, it’s actually really good fun. You feel that you can bring something different to the table. You’re not just there for window dressing; you can add a dynamic that’s otherwise missing, much of which comes from your personal connection to the sport and other drivers. I have so much experience with racing, not just driving the cars, but being in that paddock, which I can bring to the conversations and the interviews.
I spoke to Lewis for a longer interview with him last year at the British Grand Prix. I think it was one of the best interviews we’ve ever had with him, and it’s all down to the fact that we’re both drivers and were teammates for three years. He forgets that all the big cameras are there and the world’s listening and thinks he’s talking to a mate. I could ask him, ‘Have you got a girlfriend?’ and get away with it. No other journalist could do that.
Of course, if we got to a team boss, it’s a bit more of a serious interview. Sky might want me to pose certain questions. But for drivers they normally want me to come up with the questions and ask them from a driver’s perspective. I try to steer clear of, ‘How did it go?’ or, worse, ‘How do you feel?’ knowing from my years on the other side of the cameras that they are the very worst questions you can be asked, and they tend to be asked by someone who isn’t quite sure of their facts, and so is hoping that your answer will give then ammunition to ask more questions.
I mean, really, what can you say to ‘how do you feel?’.
‘I feel like ripping someone’s still-beating heart from their ribcage and eating it whole’?
‘Yeah, I feel great, really brilliant’ equals ‘Oh, he doesn’t care / is being sarcastic / is on drugs’ etc.
So instead what you get is, ‘Well, obviously very disappointed, blah, blah, blah, positives, blah, blah, blah, move on, blah, blah, learn from this, blah, blah,’ the same cut-and-paste answer that everybody has heard a zillion times before.
It’s a difficult transaction. And while the interviewer needs to get their shit together, the driver can’t really afford to act like a prize arse. I’ve seen interviews where the driver’s given one-word answers and I’ve thought, ‘Mate, there are millions of people hanging on your every word here. They want to hear your feelings on the matter.’
It may be that he’s annoyed at some of the questions being a bit basic. But that comes with the territory and to most of the people watching, ‘How do you feel?’ is a perfectly legitimate question. They don’t know you’ve already been asked it half a dozen times that day.
Me, I’ve got annoyed with silly questions in the past (‘Do you want to win?’) and I’ve bitten back, much to my later regret. Fact is, we all get stressed, but if you can come back at it with a better angle, you look like a much better person for answering the question correctly and in a grown-up manner.
So I’ve come to really enjoy the TV work. Simon Lazenby is great and I’m working with a lot of other ex-F1 drivers, too, which makes it a lot of fun. We all go to dinner in the evenings and there’s loads of gossip about who might be moving where, who’s unhappy here, who went out and had too much to drink, and so on and so forth.
And of course I love being in the paddock. To be there without the stress of the race is a joy. First of all, walking in is weird. When I’m racing in Japan, there’s no hospitality, it’s all very simple, it’s grass-roots racing. Gradually I’d forgotten how luxurious it is in the world of Formula One. You should see Red Bull’s motorhome – it’s like a cruise liner. Maybe it was always like that. Just that for the first time since entering the sport I’m able to take my time and enjoy these sights. As a driver you’re fixated on getting from getting from A to B in the shortest possible time to minimise time spent doing selfies. You hardly even lift your head let alone stop to admire the scenery. But as a newly minted pundit I felt like one of those kids chosen to take a tour of Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory, looking around, going, ‘Ooh’ and ‘Aah’ and noticing things I’d never seen before. I still get someone saying hello or wanting an autograph or a selfie, but it’s a lot more relaxed because people aren’t there for the likes of me, they’re looking out for the drivers. Being in this position has revitalised my relationship with F1. I’m in love again.
All in all, I think it’s a good time to have made that move ‘across’, as it were. As a driver, the racing had become predictable, whereas as an observer it remains fascinating. You can appreciate the enormous talent of, say, Lewis. You can pick up on the nuances, how certain cars suit certain people. You can enjoy the narrative, the little stories of the weekend.
How will the sport change? I’m not sure that it will. Certainly not in the short term. Mercedes build engines, which they supply to other teams, but they keep the best ones for themselves. The only team with a chance of beating them is another manufacturer team, and right now that’s only Ferrari. Still, there are other ways in which the sport can improve. The racing has to be better. If you look at other formulas, the cars don’t look as good as F1 cars, they’re 12 seconds a lap slower, but the racing’s great. There’s so much overtaking.
So if you applied that to Formula One, what if they were 10 seconds slower, had less aerodynamics and more mechanical grip? There would be more overtaking.
So reduce downforce. That would be my first change if I were made king of the sport. Next thing, ditch DRS, because it means that everyone waits for the straight to overtake. If there’s a possibility of making a move two corners before the straight, you don’t take it because you might damage the car and you know you’re going to overtake in two corners’ time when you’re on the straight. Ergo: no risks. People forget that mistakes are an integral part of the sport and again something you inevitably find more entertaining as an observer than you do when you’re a part of it. And it’s a fact that teams don’t make mistakes like they used to. Cars are much more reliable than in the past. You have two Mercedes at the front who are the quickest, who rarely make mistakes. How do you beat them? You don’t. The only thing you can do is challenge them knowing that as soon as they feel challenge and competition then that is when they’ll make mistakes.
Mistakes, then. More overtaking. More action. The most important thing is that the racing is good for fans. And as someone who’s now more of a fan than a participant, I’ll get behind any measure that does that – as long as it involves ditching DRS.
If there’s one philosophy that you take away from this, it’s Always Be Learning. It’s easy to say you should learn through your mistakes, but to put it into practice is something very different.
What have I learnt about myself? Well, for a start, I’ve learnt that there are certain things I can’t change about the way I am, even though I’ve tried, and one of those is getting over a bad weekend. However much people tell me after a bad race, ‘Deal with it, get over it and move on’, and however many times I tell myself the same thing, it doesn’t change and won’t, because that’s my weakness – I can’t just leave things behind.
So I’ve learnt that about myself. I’ve also learnt that there are a lot of sharks in Formula One. I’ve learnt that it’s a fickle business and if you don’t come in and you don’t perform, you’re straight out the door – career over. I’ve learnt that if you really spend time with quality people in the sport, like the mechanics, you gain a lot of friends and when you win together, it means a lot more than when you win alone. When you’re winning with great people around you, it’s what it’s all about.
When the old man passed away what struck me was a sense of not knowing what life has in store for you. I began to think about how we should take the positives from the past, but always be living in the moment, not worrying about what’s happened or what’s up next.
Back in the old days, I’d be doing something fun, swimming in the sea in Monaco or mucking about with my mates, driving nice cars, but I’d be thinking, What am I going to do later? Where are we going to tonight? But why? Why don’t we just enjoy what we’re doing right now because what we’re doing is awesome.
And I really do believe that now, I think that living in the moment is key to a better life. And all of that is a result of finally, at last, becoming a proper person, not just a selfish bastard. And I guess that’s meeting Brit, and becoming a father.
What will fatherhood mean for my driving? Well, in racing they say that a baby is two-tenths. I don’t know if that’s true because I know a lot of drivers who have kids who haven’t slowed down, and as for me, I certainly don’t intend to slow down. What I fully expect to experience is a tremendous sense of perspective, a reminder that racing, while important, is just a sport. It’s about going out and having fun. And given that new-found perspective maybe I’ll be driving better – perhaps it’ll ease the pressure. I’ll be going out there and enjoying myself.
Ten years back I wouldn’t have thought that way. I wasn’t ready to be a father then because I was so focused on Formula One. Now I realise that there are things in life that are so much more important than racing and being on the podium. Those moments are great, and I treasure them and I can sit on the sofa with our little boy and go, ‘Look, that’s your dad, that’s when he used to win trophies and dress in his own giant onesie without pockets…’
Most likely his aspirations and interests will be totally different from mine. Whatever they are I’ll have his back. But, of course, if it’s driving, that’s great. Who knows? Maybe I’ll get him interested in racing the way my dad did for me – and I’ll be the guy in an eye-catching shirt that he’s picking out when he sprays his winner’s champagne.
We’ll see.