“She’s beautiful,” you think, as you scan her curves. You imagine how she’ll make you feel – how the two of you will sync perfectly, how you’ll learn every nook and cranny of her being. And just when you start to feel comfortable with her, she pitches you into a black void of heartbreak and despair.

I’m talking, of course, about Rainbow Road. The quintessential Mario Kart level, featured in every iteration of the franchise since its launch in 1992, has long been the subject of one of the most intense love/hate relationships in the world of video games. Gamers can’t get enough of Rainbow Road’s gorgeous looks and challenging layout, but she’s proven thousands of times to be a cruel mistress. Put simply, Rainbow Road is an eater of hearts.

I’ve been a Mario Kart fan since the days of the Super Nintendo, but I didn’t really come into my own as a racer until Mario Kart 64. I knew every inch of every track in that game, every shortcut. However, Rainbow Road perfection proved elusive. No matter how hard I practiced or how well the first couple of laps went, it always seemed like Rainbow Road was unwilling to allow me to succeed. What I didn’t know at the time, of course, is that Rainbow Road isn’t a racetrack at all – it’s a relationship simulator.

Every relationship, and every race on Rainbow Road, starts in exactly the same way. You sit at the starting line, hypnotized by the beauty that lies in front of you. You think about how amazing things are going to go this time, and carefully run through the mistakes you’ve made on the previous runs so you know to avoid them. “I’m ready,” you tell yourself, and then you hit the track, wheels blazing. Sometimes, you even snag the starting boost.

As you cruise around Rainbow Road and things continue to go well, you become convinced that you’re invincible. This time you’ve got it under control – you’re not going to miss the jump in turn seven, and you’ll remember to boost over the center gaps. You start laying out plans for the final lap in your head; maybe you even consider your victory dance. But your joy is premature, and Rainbow Road cares not for your feelings. You are building yourself up for a colossal fall.

It’s not long before you over-correct on a power slide or miss a simple jump, plunging off the edge and into defeat. Maybe you manage to do everything right, but you end up getting blue shelled. Heck, you can even hit yourself in the face with a green shell – self-destruction is common in both Mario Kart and love. And, like love, there’s no shortage of ways for things to go wrong on Rainbow Road. By the time you’re back on the course and ready to proceed, the race is already lost.

Rainbow Road prepares you for relationships by teaching you what it feels like to believe in something joyous, and then have it snapped out from under you. It teaches you how to stay focused on the moment, as opposed to the future. And it teaches you that above all things, you can never let your heart get ahead of your brain. If you forget use your head and get caught up in the emotions of the race, you will inevitably crash and burn, sinking into an inky abyss from which there is only a slow, embarrassing return.

Of course, not every Rainbow Road race ends in tears. Every now and then, circumstances line up and allow you to run the perfect race. You hit every jump, power slide every turn, and avoid every pitfall. You can’t possibly do it every time, but every once and a while you and Rainbow Road are perfectly aligned, working as two parts of a whole as you Mushroom-boost your way to racing glory.

That’s the lesson I’ve learned from Rainbow Road. Life and love are hard and unpredictable. There are no guarantees. However, sometimes things just go right. Sometimes everything is perfect, and when that happens there’s no greater feeling in the world.

All you have to do is keep racing.