My racing story starts at three months old, asleep in my dad's go-kart after a night of races — this life chose me before I was even old enough to know what was happening around me.

We spent every single Saturday night at AKA, the Arizona Karting Association. They wouldn't even have the karts unloaded yet and I'd already be off running around the pits with my friends, completely in our own world. I didn't get behind the wheel myself until I was thirteen, but I loved every moment of it long before that. We had countless long nights at my grandpa's shop — playing darts, listening to music, cleaning the trailer, doing maintenance on the karts while the adults talked and I just existed in the background of it all. That shop is as much a part of my childhood as any house I ever lived in.

When the kart days ended, my dad and grandpa bought a micro sprint, and the nights got even longer. More time in the shop. More time at the track. I didn't know much about actually working on the cars at that age — my contribution mostly consisted of scraping mud off the bottom and relentlessly asking everyone for candy, cookies, and juice boxes every single chance I got. But I didn't realize it then, sitting around listening to the adults talk setup and strategy, I was quietly absorbing all of it. It seeps into you whether you mean for it to or not. By the time I actually got behind the wheel myself, I already had years of half-understood knowledge buried somewhere in the back of my head.

Not long after, my cousin Colton got into sprint car racing with ASCS on the West Coast, and our family's racing footprint got even bigger. Emma, Jillian, Jacob, and I would build our own mini racetracks in the infield, completely ignoring the actual race happening twenty feet away from us. We had our own little world out there. And by the end of every race night, my attitude had usually gotten me flipped upside down into a trash can by someone in the pits — usually Suzie, who I'm pretty sure considered it a personal mission.

Adobe Mountain and Two Wheels

After the sprint car years, my dad and grandpa decided to help run Adobe Mountain Speedway. That changed the rhythm of our whole life. The long nights in the shop turned into long days building the track facility itself — picking up trash and rocks off the racing surface, selling pit passes at the gate, making sure the sticky part of every wristband landed exactly where it was supposed to so so I didn't pull anyone's arm hair off in the process.

It was hard, unglamorous work, but it gave me a different kind of education. I learned what it actually takes to put on a race — not just show up and watch one.

When I wasn't out there helping with track stuff, I started getting into photography. A close family friend was generous enough to give me a camera and some basic equipment to get started, and I ran with it. I'd wander the pits with that camera, finding angles, learning how to actually see a race instead of just watching one.

In 2022, while I was still helping out at Adobe most weekends, I got the opportunity to race motorcycles with the AZ Flat Track Racing. It wasn't just finally being on track myself that I loved — though that part was incredible. It was the people. After races, my friends and I would spend hours at Keith and Cindy's house, running around their yard playing hide and seek, or just sitting on the tailgate of someone's truck talking about absolutely nothing and everything at the same time. Those nights are some of the best memories of that whole chapter of my life, and I think about them often.

My bike racing days were a lot of fun, but they ended quicker than I expected when my parents made the decision to move a thousand miles away to Oklahoma.

A New State, A New Car

At that point I genuinely had no idea what my racing future looked like. The only thing I had ever raced competitively was two wheels. I figured my dad would keep racing micros once we got settled and I'd just be along for the ride, same as it had always been.

We pulled into our new driveway in Oklahoma for the first time at 11am on July 21st. By 6pm the very next day, we were already at Port City Raceway. We hadn't even fully unpacked the house yet and we were already chasing the next track.

I don't remember exactly what sparked the conversation about building a car for me — it happened somewhere in the middle of all that chaos of moving and settling in — but I remember exactly how I felt the moment I was told it was actually happening. Pure excitement. While we slowly put the car together, piece by piece, I kept doing photography on the side every weekend. I didn't know it at the time, but that camera was quietly building something — relationships, an eye for the sport, a small reputation around the pits — long before I ever strapped into a race car myself.

Once the car was finally finished, the plan was simple and sensible — a few practice sessions, get some laps under my belt, ease into things slowly before ever lining up against other cars. That plan lasted about one track rental. Shane, the owner of PCR, talked my dad into letting me race that very weekend instead of waiting.

It did not go the way I had pictured it in my head a hundred times. I was two laps away from finishing my very first race ever when I clipped a tire and bent the front axle.

I was hooked instantly anyway. Completely, hopelessly hooked.

We started my rookie season about a month or two late because we didn't have much funding to build the car and had to take it slow, so the plan going in was simple — just race when we could, have fun with it, no pressure. That's what my family told me, anyway, and I think they meant it. But I knew immediately, somewhere deep down, that this was what I was always going to want to do with my life. That year we still managed to win two features and finish top ten in PCR restrictor points, even though we never set out to chase points at all. We just looked up partway through the season, realized we were close, and decided we might as well commit to finishing it out properly.

I still remember the exact look on my parents' faces the first time I parked the car in victory lane. People had always told me I had talent, but it's a different thing entirely to actually feel it for yourself. That was the moment I finally started believing them.

Coyote Race Cars and the Family That Grew

At the end of my rookie year, my grandpa reached out to the owner of Coyote Race Cars about getting me a ride back home in Arizona that November. Our families already knew each other — we had crossed paths plenty of times running Adobe Mountain together. Thankfully, Bugs said yes, and that's really where everything started for me and CRC.

We made the trip out to Arizona, and the moment we got there, my family and the team just instantly clicked. It felt right immediately — the kind of environment where you can tell people actually like working together, not just tolerate it. We ended up finishing on the podium both nights that weekend, which only made the whole thing feel even more meant to be.

Before I knew it, my rookie year was behind me and it was time for year two — my first full season actually behind the wheel from start to finish. Like every racer says heading into a new season, "we're definitely not chasing points this year." And then, almost without meaning to, everything just started clicking into place. We went from running top five week after week, to those top fives quietly turning into podiums almost every single weekend. Naturally, at some point, we started actually looking at the points standings. And suddenly we were running third.

That's when we knew we had a real shot at something special. And that's also exactly when the pressure showed up, uninvited and impossible to ignore.

I had never experienced competing for something that genuinely mattered — not just to me personally, but to everyone who had put time, money, and belief into getting me to that point. It was a complete roller coaster of emotions all season long. But looking back now, the highs and the lows of that year together are something I wouldn't trade for anything in the world.

I remember one specific night, driving home from the track, pulling up the points standings on someone's phone in the truck, scrolling through to see who was sitting where. And there it was — my name, sitting right at the top of the list. I remember the pure, electric excitement of that moment. But right behind it came the heavier realization that the job wasn't anywhere close to finished. We still had to go finish up front, week after week, for the rest of the season.

Then, almost suddenly, it was championship night.

Every friend we had made since moving to Oklahoma showed up that night, just to support me. I had genuinely never experienced anything quite like that before — that many people, gathered in one place, there specifically for me. With that support came real stress, the kind that sits in your chest all night, knowing exactly what you have to go out there and do. After an absolute roller coaster of a night, I remember climbing out of the car to my parents spraying me with champagne and every single face around me lit up with excitement.

Later that night, while we were taking photos on the track, the flagman walked up and casually mentioned that I might be the first female to ever win a restrictor championship at PCR, in the track's full fifty year history. We immediately started messaging people, digging through old records together, trying to confirm if it was actually true. After talking to a handful of people who would know, it was confirmed — I really was the first female to win a restrictor championship at Port City Raceway. Kaylee Bryson had already won an A-Class title before me, and Taylor Rimer had won Jr. Sprints, but the restrictor championship belonged to me, first.

That same year, Preston and his dad came out to run PCR with Skyler, and somewhere along the way we started talking about the possibility of getting a chassis from them. They needed a driver based in the Midwest — and somehow, out of everyone they could have picked, they chose me. By the time shootout season rolled around, we had worked out a deal for me to run one of their cars in both A-Class and Stock Non-Wing. Getting to spend that whole week driving a brand new car was exciting on its own, but what really stuck with me was watching how the CRC team actually operated — running multiple cars out of a single pit, everyone supporting each other instead of quietly competing against one another. It's genuinely a team full of people who want each other to succeed, not just themselves. That's rarer than people think in this sport.

Year Three, And What Came With It

After the championship, it was time to move up to A-Class. That meant a new chassis, a new motor package, an entirely new class, and a whole new field of drivers around me who already knew what they were doing. There was an enormous amount to learn that year, and not all of it came easy.

I also faced some real things in my personal life that season. My grandpa passed away that year, along with some other hard things that I won't go into detail about here. We didn't get the results on track that we had hoped for — the learning curve of A-Class was steeper than any of us fully expected. But we showed up every single night anyway, and we never once stopped trying. We finished the year with a top five in points and Rookie of the Year, which felt like a real accomplishment given everything that season threw at us. Through the whole year, Preston and his dad were always just one phone call away, anytime I needed help thinking through the car or my driving.

Year Four, And the National Tour

Preston talked to my dad about taking Skyler and me out together on the NOW600 National Tour. They had extra room in the trailer, so we threw my car in alongside Preston's and Skyler's, and we haven't looked back since. These days we keep the trailer and all the cars at my house, and we work right out of my shop.

This year has been entirely about growth — not just as a driver chasing lap times, but in my ability to actually give useful, specific feedback on what the car is doing underneath me. We've also been working hard on marketing ourselves properly, and growing not just our individual programs but Team PNI as a complete unit. We've turned into a team that respects each other, pushes each other to be better, and still somehow manages to have fun every single weekend, no matter how exhausted everyone is.

This year has been full of bad gas station food eaten at hours that shouldn't exist, late nights in the shop working on everything from the cars themselves to social media content nobody felt like making, hotel lobby ice cream runs after race nights when none of us can fall asleep no matter how tired we are, and a couple of canceled Airbnbs because my dad has a habit of not reading the fine print closely enough. I wouldn't trade a single piece of it. This year has taught me that it's perfectly okay to have hard nights, as long as you learn something from them and come back a little better every time you hit the track.

Thank You

I'm endlessly thankful for my mom, for keeping the house sane while my dad and I are out racing more weekends than not. And for my dad, for pouring his entire heart into making sure I become successful, and for constantly pushing me to be the best driver I can possibly be — both on the track and off of it.

A huge thank you to Preston, for letting me be a part of Preston Norbury Innovations. I am so excited to watch what it grows into from here. And thank you to the entire Norbury family, for letting me be part of CRC since the very beginning of my career, long before I had given anyone a real reason to believe in me