Stacey-Lee May learned to spin a car in half a day. Understanding what that actually requires took considerably longer.
May, a spin and stunt driver from Eldorado Park, describes herself as quiet and reserved in everyday life. Behind the wheel, a different person emerges entirely. That transformation points to something fundamental about spinning itself: the spectacle of smoking tyres and roaring engines masks a technical discipline built on precision and intimate knowledge of the machine.
Her entry into the sport was not sudden. From age five to ten, her parents drove her to Kimberley each Easter weekend to watch the spinning and drifting events at Monster Mob, when the practice was still illegal. Her father owned a towing company and was a committed car enthusiast; her mother worked at a dealership. Cars were not a hobby in her household but the fabric of daily life. When spinning was eventually legalised, her father encouraged her to participate. By that point, she had accumulated years of exposure.
The speed of her initial learning, though, obscures the complexity of what spinning actually demands. May is direct about the distinction. “There’s so much more than just getting into a car and letting the wheels spin,” she explains. “It’s precision. You have to know what you’re doing, you have to be aware of your surroundings, you have to always make sure that everything is safe and you have to know the car that you’re spinning as well.”
The sport operates within formal rules and regulations. Drivers do not spin on public roads. Spinning requires purpose-built vehicles and dedicated facilities, and understanding how a car is constructed, and what enables it to perform these manoeuvres, is foundational to responsible participation. When May teaches others, she begins with mechanics and vehicle design before moving to technique. The approach reflects her broader philosophy: spinning is disciplined performance, not recklessness.
Her ambitions extend beyond personal achievement. Spinning remains a male-dominated space, and although she currently lacks the resources for formal instruction programs, she offers guidance to women who seek it. Her longer-term vision is an all-girls spinning school, once financial and facility constraints allow. That goal speaks to a broader shift in the sport’s demographics and challenges long-standing assumptions about who belongs behind the wheel.
Meanwhile, her aspirations reach further than gender representation alone. May is committed to positioning spinning as a legitimate South African sporting and cultural phenomenon deserving international recognition. “It’s a proudly South African sport,” she says. “It was born and raised in South Africa. Nobody in this world can spin cars like South Africans do. It’s in our blood.”
She has watched how international audiences react to South African spinning. Other drivers, including Samkeliso “Sam Sam” Thubane, have taken the sport overseas and encountered responses of genuine amazement. That pattern has reinforced her conviction that spinning can develop into a globally recognised discipline. “I’m hoping that spinning could one day become something like Formula 1,” she says.
Pursuing spinning has not meant abandoning other foundations. May holds a law degree and views education as essential insurance against the unpredictability of a sports career. “As much as I love my sport and I love what I do, I have to have a backup plan,” she says.
Her approach to competitions reflects the same methodical preparation she brings to everything else. Before events, she confirms bookings, secures deposits to cover expenses like tyres and fuel, and coordinates mechanical work with her father and younger brother. Prayer precedes performances, a spiritual component running alongside the practical logistics. Preparation, faith and technical execution define her approach in equal measure.
More information about May’s vision for spinning is available at https://mg.co.za/friday/2026-08-27-stacey-lee-may-wants-spinning-to-take-its-place-on-the-world-stage/
For May, spinning ultimately represents freedom. “When you’re doing it, you feel like nobody can tell me what I’m doing is wrong,” she says. “It’s my sport, it’s what I do. This is what I’m good at.” That freedom, combined with her commitment to expanding participation and raising the sport’s international profile, drives her continued involvement. She wants more women in spinning, wider global understanding of South African spinning culture, and growth that preserves the character that made the sport distinctly South African in the first place. Whether an all-girls spinning school or a Formula 1-scale audience materialises first remains the open question her career is now built around answering.