Lightning McQueen closed his eyes and concentrated on the sound of his breathing. “Okay, here we go,” he said to himself. “Focus.” He took a deep breath. “Speed. I am speed.” He imagined racing around a track to the cheers of a packed stadium. “One winner. Forty-two losers. I eat losers for breakfast.” He pictured more cars whipping around the track. “Did I used to say that? Really?” he said, suddenly realizing how silly it sounded. “Yeah. Ya did,” said Mater. Lightning shouted, surprised by the interruption of his pre-race ritual. “Mater?” he asked. “Hey, buddy!” Mater replied. “Yep, you used to say that all the time. I remember this one time—” Lightning cut him off. “Mater! What are you doing here?” “I didn't want ya to be lonely,” he said. “Well, thank you,” Lightning said, softening a bit. “But I need a little quiet. I'm kinda preparing for a race.” Just then, the door on Mack's trailer started to roll down. “Oh, right!” Mater said. “You got it, buddy!” Mater shouted as he left. The door closed and Lightning took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said, settling back into his routine. “I am speed—” But Mater interrupted him again. Only this time, Lightning could hear him yelling outside the trailer. “Hey!” Mater called. “My best friend, Lightning McQueen, needs quiet! Perfect quiet!” Lightning chuckled, then gave himself a moment to get back into the zone. “Okay, where was I?” he said. After another deep breath, he said, “Racing. Real racing.” In his mind, he saw himself racing again—but this time he was back at home in Radiator Springs, driving around the quiet, expansive Willys Butte with his old friend and mentor, Doc Hudson. Even though Doc had been gone for some time, Lightning could still hear his gruff voice, clear as day. As he remembered the scene, he could hear Doc say, “That ain't racing. That wasn't even a Sunday drive. That was one lap. Racing is five hundred of those. Everybody's fighting to move up, lap after lap—inside, outside, inches apart, never touching. Now, that's racin'!”
