Viacheslav Gutak is a Russian endurance racing driver, born in 2003 in Kaliningrad. He began his career in karting, winning races and taking podiums not only in Russia, but also in the United States. By 2022, he had completed a full season with the G-Drive team in the Asian Le Mans Series, and in 2023 he became the vice-champion of the series in the LMP3 class.
However, his story goes far beyond race results. Viacheslav is actively building his personal brand — he runs social media, creates videos, integrates memes, and shares insights into the behind-the-scenes world of motorsport, including its financial side.
We met Viacheslav at Rosa Khutor, where he came not only to relax but also to network. In this interview, he talked about his journey, Russian karting, the power of social media, the highs and lows of racing — and, of course, his dream of competing in the 24 Hours of Le Mans
Jastina Golopolosova
Journalist
Viacheslav, hi! You’re currently at Rosa Khutor, enjoying the mountains, and not long ago you were racing in Dubai. What does “rest” mean to you, and how do you shift from racing mode to rest mode?
Hi! I’m here at New Star Camp — definitely enjoying the event, but at the same time, I’m working. Networking is my main tool: I maintain connections, meet people, spend time with friends.
As for skiing — I tried it once, and quickly realized it’s not the safest thing for me. So I literally went down the slope just once.
When it comes to switching modes… unfortunately, racing now takes up such a small part of the year in terms of actual days. When you move from karting to professional motorsport, the contrast becomes clear: in karting, even though it’s an expensive sport, you can afford to drive often, constantly stay behind the wheel.
But in big racing, you’re left with 40 racing days a year — and 320 days to prepare and make those races happen.
So it’s more about “switching on” for the races, rather than switching off. Sometimes you arrive at the track and before the session starts, you catch yourself thinking: “Wait… what is it like to drive again?” Because you haven’t been in the car for three months.
You’re from Kaliningrad. Tell us, how did it all begin? Who or what inspired you?
I always give an honest answer to this question — it was my dad who brought me into motorsport. I can’t really say he was my “inspiration,” but he definitely introduced me to it. First, he took me to rental karting — and quite late, actually, when I was about 10. By the age of 12, I had already quit rental karting because I didn’t enjoy it.
But just a month later, my dad suggested I try professional karting. For some reason, I agreed — and I instantly liked it. Although… I only did one lap: I hit a curb with the rear axle (it was a track with curbs), broke a wheel rim, got out of the kart and said: “This is mine.” My dad still had no idea how much it was all going to cost.
Since then, we’ve been going through this journey side by side. He’s been developing as an entrepreneur, and I’ve been growing as an athlete. Now we also have partners — I’m always looking for them and building those connections.
By the way, my dad really loves racing. He’s actually one of the pioneers of street racing in Kaliningrad.
That’s awesome! But when was the moment you realized: “Yes, I’m going to be a racing driver”?
My dad always told me that it had to be my decision. The deal was: as soon as he saw — or I felt — that I didn’t enjoy it anymore, we would stop.
Throughout my career, there were certain points when he would ask serious questions, because we had to make decisions that could really shape my future. These weren’t exactly points of no return, but they were definitely moments after which things became more serious.
As a kid, those were tough questions to answer. There were ups and downs, of course, but I never seriously wanted to quit. I’ve always loved what I do.
And I guess I was quite grown-up for my age — mostly because motorsport surrounds you with adults. I knew I was sacrificing my traditional education or a regular career path for this complicated puzzle of racing. Luckily, so far, things are going better than I could’ve hoped.
You started racing at a time when Russian motorsport was actively developing — new tracks were built, teams and karting schools appeared. How do you see those changes? Do young drivers today have more opportunities compared to the era of Sirotkin, Kvyat, or Mazepin? Do you feel like you came in at the right time?
To be honest, I’ve never really thought about it that way. On the karting level, a lot has changed for the better — even after I moved on. But in top-level racing, in my opinion, not much has changed. It’s still very small and individual. It’s like trying to push a giant rock — really hard to move. That’s why I believe it makes much more sense to focus on developing the early stages of the sport, like karting. And that’s exactly what they have done with SMP and the Russian Automobile Federation — and that’s great!
As for the process itself — I think all parents, whether they used to be racers or not, go through this unknown path. I went through it too. I had no guide other than my dad — and for him, it was just as unfamiliar.
Today, Russian karting has grown even more. I honestly believe we now have one of the best championships in the world — not just on a national level, but internationally as well. We can seriously compete with the European Championship, WSK, and even Italy. The level is really high.
Back when I was racing in the Russian karting championship, it was already pretty good — but it keeps getting bigger and better every year. And I’m really happy to see that. I don’t know if the growth has made it easier to understand or if the infrastructure has become more developed — maybe it has.
But when it comes to professional racing, I don’t think much has changed — and honestly, I’m not sure it ever will. Only a very small percentage of drivers make the jump from karting to big racing. And it’s not just about money. The main entry point is actually management.
So can we say that karting has become more accessible now?
No, it hasn’t become more accessible — it keeps getting more expensive and inflated. Why are the best karting drivers from Italy? Because they’re racing at home. But once they move up to higher-level series, the picture changes dramatically. How many Italians do we see in Formula 1? Not many — even though at one point, they made up almost 70% of the karting grid.
But we’re growing. Right now, Russian karting drivers are officially among the best in the world. Maksim Orlov, Kirill Kutskov, Anatoly Khavalkin — I could go on and on listing names. The level of Russian drivers in karting today is just off the charts.
Back to the question — the entry into karting hasn’t become easier. But something cool is happening: we’re starting to see media exposure in the Russian Karting Championship. And I’m really happy for the guys. Of course, it’s hard to grow that side of things, so it’s still at an early stage — but the fact that it’s developing at all is great.
And because of that, sponsors have started to appear. Which is huge. Sponsorship in karting is almost unheard of — even on the global level.
Let’s touch on the financial side: just how expensive can a season get? Is there any way to cover those costs with prize money?
No, not really. There’s basically no prize money anywhere. Sport is a business — and racing is probably the most expensive sport of them all.
Let me give you an example. Take the Russian Swimming Federation — nothing against swimming, this is just for comparison. They organize the Russian Championships or the Russian Cup. To offer prize money — let’s say, 1 million rubles for first place, 500,000 for second, 300,000 for third — they need to find sponsors. They do that work, raise the funds, the athletes compete, someone wins — and everyone’s happy.
Now let’s look at motorsport. The Russian Automobile Federation is structured similarly to the swimming federation — in terms of people, budget, and operations. But motorsport isn’t an Olympic sport. It’s way harder to find sponsors. And even if the federation does manage to find prize money — it still doesn’t solve the core issue.
Let’s say you complete a full season, spend 15–20 million rubles, and win the Russian Championship. You’re now one of the best karting drivers in the world. And your prize? For example, 1 million rubles. That’s about 5% of what you spent.
In higher-level racing, the situation is pretty much the same. Sure, Formula 1 has prize money. But below that? Mostly trophies, maybe a Rolex at Daytona or Le Mans. Sometimes there are cash awards — like if you win the Michelin Cup, you get €150,000 towards the next ELMS season. That can actually cover half, or maybe even a full season. But good luck winning the Michelin Cup.
In ELMS itself, I think the prize money is about €75,000 — for the entire team. But there are three drivers. And usually, that money goes straight back into the team’s budget.
You have an interesting chapter in your career — the Los Angeles Karting Championship in 2019. Could you please tell about it? It really stands out in your bio.
Most of my family lives in Los Angeles — my grandma, my aunt, and three cousins. I used to visit them during school breaks. On one of those trips, when I was already racing karts, I had my first experience with the KZ class there. But at that point, I hadn’t officially switched to it yet.
About six months later, I did it and came back to LA, contacted the same team — and they agreed to take me on. I finished second in the race, but the guy who came in first was disqualified for being underweight, so I was bumped up to first place.
It was an incredibly exhausting race — something like +35°C, just insanely hot. And KZ is physically brutal. It was the toughest race I had for many years to come.
Why endurance racing? What makes it unique, and why did you choose this path?
When I transitioned from karting, I had the opportunity to try out different types of machinery. We spent a few days in Formula 4 — I needed to learn the track and get a general feel for everything. In between, I tested GT4, but the whole GT story didn’t appeal to me at all.
We didn’t consider F4 — I was already too old at that point, I was 19. We looked at formula categories like FRECA and so on, although financially those were the most difficult options.
And then came the G-Drive story. I was in Barcelona when I was told I had a seat fitting in LMP3. That was a step up, and it came into my life about six months earlier than expected. The next day was the seat fitting, and the day after that — testing. Everything went well, and just a month and a half later — one month before the start of the Asian Le Mans Series — I signed a contract with G-Drive. I didn’t do any other sessions during those six weeks.
So basically, I jumped straight from six days of testing in Formula 4 and one day in LMP3 right into the Asian Le Mans Series. And that became the highlight of my career. I was really proud. It was a huge moral responsibility — G-Drive, the Russian flag. With time, I realized how much more it meant. Especially after we won the 4 Hours of Abu Dhabi — at night. And the very next morning, the Special Military Operation began. So it turned out I was the last Russian athlete in the world to stand on a podium with the Russian flag and anthem.
Why endurance racing? Because for me, that’s what real racing is. There’s so much charm in it. To understand what endurance racing is, you have to be at an endurance race. I’ve done two 24-hour marathons — well, one not quite fully — but there’s so much romance in it. It just doesn’t compare to any other kind of racing.
The driver — or drivers, in this case — is the tip of the pyramid. What I really love is the teamwork, the idea that the car keeps running without stopping, that it’s built at the very limit of human capability and engineering, and that it runs for 24 hours at full speed. That already goes beyond what’s “normal.” So when we talk about what’s normal and what’s not — endurance racing is not normal, and that’s exactly what makes it so cool. It’s an unreal atmosphere and a massive responsibility.
One important thing about endurance racing — everyone has problems. The real question is: who has fewer of them?
How exciting that sounds! Speaking of setbacks — the 24 Hours of Dubai. Your team didn’t make the start due to technical issues. How hard is it mentally to accept that you won’t be racing? What do you do in moments like that? Do you have some kind of crisis routine?
That race was a separate chapter in my career. I had done so much for it… and then it didn’t happen. I didn’t have — not even understanding, let’s say acceptance. I spent half an hour crying in a container. I felt responsible in front of my partners. It was the first time I had ever organized an event for 100 people. People had flown in… and I wasn’t racing. I had no idea what to do.
But people supported me. I realized — my guests still had a full 24 hours ahead at the track. And that’s a challenge too. I needed to give them the best experience of their lives. So I walked out in a good mood and said, “Okay, let’s make content and keep going — I’m an Insta guy, after all.”
The team was already fully focused on the second car, so I walked over to our Aston, took the door off — it had a huge logo of my sponsors on it. Then I went up to the VIP lounge and said, “I promised you a photoshoot with the Aston Martin door — here you go.”
We had a full-hour photoshoot. After that, I basically hosted the race together with the girls who were helping me — I gave commentary, chatted with guests, did paddock tours, networked, talked to other drivers.
But there’s another side to it. You didn’t even start the race — and yet, you still have to go out there and shoot great content. And that’s tough. You feel the judgment — especially on social media. You feel it emotionally, even if it’s not said outright. We make memes to get attention, to become known. And people say — “you’re a professional athlete, why are you making memes?” But the truth is — without that, there is no professional sport. You have to balance it.
You’re one of the few Russian racing drivers who actively builds a presence on social media and makes Reels. When did you realize that media exposure is important — that it’s also part of your career? And how can a driver use Reels to make a name for themselves?
For me, it was always clear that media visibility is necessary. It’s hard to get, and managing it is a challenge too. As someone important in my life once told me: “As long as no one knows what you’re doing, you’re doing it for yourself. And if you’re doing it just for yourself — it’s a hobby.” So no matter how good an athlete you are, it doesn’t mean anything if no one knows about it. Sure, there are rare exceptions. But how are you going to share what you’re doing with the world?
How do you make yourself known? I’ll tell you how I managed to get the ball rolling. I had a lot of initiative. My girlfriend Dasha and I — we’re a great team. I don’t work with any SMM specialists — Dasha handles a lot of Instagram* work. The memes? That’s her — you can thank her for that. We tried a lot of things. For a year we did it one way. Then two years — still no results. That meant we were doing something wrong. There are statistics. There are numbers. If you do something 100 times and it doesn’t work, that’s not the way. You have to change your approach.
Try one thing — doesn’t work? Try something else. Try ten different things. Then ten more. And sooner or later, something will click.
In my case, it finally worked when I posted a guide — and 7,000 people messaged me saying they wanted it.
Reels and Insta — it’s all about testing theories. There’s no magic formula.
Thanks for sharing. So how can a driver actually get noticed by teams? Do you just send out a CV? How does it really work?
If you’re a super top-level driver who wants to race on someone else’s dime — that’s a very tough, almost impossible scenario. To pull that off, you really have to be the best of the best.
In Russian karting right now, there actually are opportunities to race for reduced costs or even for free — but again, only if you’re the absolute best. It’s a small community. There’s demand, there are people willing to pay.
When it comes to higher-level racing, it’s a different story. For one, the geography is much broader. The people who might pay for you there aren’t the same ones from the Russian karting scene.
Now, we’re talking specifically about getting noticed in order to be supported — and that’s a very rare scenario. It’s like a Formula 1-level story.
So yeah, maybe the answer is simple: just be better. But to be better, you have to drive a lot. And to drive a lot, you need money. Where do you get the money? You either already have it — or you go looking for it. It’s a never-ending loop. Everything in this sport is tied to funding.
But even when you’re bringing money, many contracts still have to be earned. At a certain level, money becomes the baseline — but it stops being the main deciding factor. Those contracts don’t just go to whoever has the cash. You need to know the right people, and you need to be successful. You can’t get a contract in LMP2, ELMS or WEC just by paying the seat price. Let’s say the seat costs 500 — that’s the base price. If you come with a million, sure, you might get in. But that 500 is the price for you, for Mark, for Fedor, for Sasha.
First, you need to actually have the contract — and to get that, you have to know the team and have connections. Second, you have to be better than the other guys. Or you need to bring more — like 700 instead of 500. But as long as everyone is competing at the base price — or trying to get in for less — you need to have an edge. And what’s that edge? You’re either the best driver, or you have a strong media presence, or powerful connections.
Yeah, it is interesting. You’re a big Formula 1 fan and follow the races closely. Do you remember the first Grand Prix you ever watched?
Formula 1 started for me the same way karting did. I wasn’t the kind of kid who played with toy cars. I always say it — it was my dad who got me into it. Same with Formula 1 — but those are great memories.
I started karting with my friend Zakhar — our dads were friends, and one day they flew to the Russian Grand Prix in Sochi. They took us with them. We were 11 or 12 at the time. That was the year Kvyat moved to Red Bull.
I wasn’t really that interested in what was happening yet. But I remember Hamilton was wearing the white race suit, looking like Timati, and he won the race. I wasn’t a fan of the championship yet, but I already knew the drivers. I also had some McLaren Honda bracelets and a Red Bull cap — with Kvyat’s signature on the underside. And there’s a whole story behind that cap.
One day my grandparents gave me tickets to the Brazilian Grand Prix as a gift. I was about 14 or 15. I flew there alone from Russia, and they flew in from Los Angeles. I had that same Red Bull cap with me. On the way back, I had a layover in the Netherlands. A flight attendant walked by, saw my cap, and asked, “Do you like Red Bull?” I already knew English by then and said, “Yes.” She replied, “Well, Max Verstappen’s dad is flying in first class.” At that moment, I didn’t even know who Max Verstappen’s dad was — I only knew Max. In the end, they took me and another boy to business class, and Jos signed my cap — just to the left of Kvyat’s autograph.
Then a couple of years later, when I was 17, my dad and I went to the Austrian Grand Prix. Somehow we ended up in the right place — a passageway where the drivers were walking into the paddock. There were a lot of people around, and you’d just stick out a piece of paper, hoping for an autograph.
At one point, I decided to take a chance and held out my cap (I was afraid to lose it). Someone took it, then handed it back — and there was Max’s signature on it.
So now I have a Red Bull cap with three autographs: Kvyat, Jos Verstappen, and Max Verstappen.
What a great story! In Formula 1, there’s been a wave of young drivers recently — many signed contracts last year. Who do you find exciting to watch? And who do you think might be a bit overrated?
Bearman and Antonelli definitely deserve a spot in Formula 1. Lawson does too. Bortoleto — probably yes rather than no. Hadjar and Doohan? No — they’ll be out. Formula 1 isn’t just about speed, it’s also about media presence.
Bearman and Antonelli are hype projects — they’re here to stay.
I think Bearman has real potential, he’s fast in his own right.
Lawson already has a story in Formula 1 — he spent a long time on the “bench”, and now he’s already done a few Grands Prix. I don’t even consider him a rookie anymore. I put him in a separate category. He deserves a seat — for his speed, for everything he’s been through, and because people know who he is.
With Bortoleto, Hadjar and Doohan — it’s not that simple. Doohan? Definitely no. As for the Colapinto situation — I don’t even think it needs explaining.
Bortoleto does deserve a seat in terms of pace — the guy’s genuinely quick, and compared to Hulkenberg he looks great right now. He’s the Formula 2 champion, and that means something. But in terms of image and personality, both he and Hadjar entered Formula 1 way too quietly.
In Formula 1, the most valuable currency is viewer attention. And there’s not enough of it to go around. The “survival rate” in F1 is low — too many drivers came in at once. That’s why Hadjar and Doohan have a high chance of being dropped.
But Hadjar is a special case — he’s part of the Red Bull system. And Red Bull is completely independent of the rest of Formula 1. One day you’re here, the next you’re there. They have their own evaluation criteria and internal structure.
That’s an interesting take. So, what’s your dream? What are your goals? Is the 24 Hours of Le Mans part of that?
Yes, the 24 Hours of Le Mans is my dream. Although, to be honest, I used to think on a broader scale and aimed for the World Championship. And Le Mans is just one round of it. But over time, I realized that Le Mans on its own might actually be even cooler than the entire championship.
I want to race at Le Mans. And not just race — I want to succeed there. It’s more than a goal, it’s a whole chapter of life. If, say, in three years I make it to the grid at Le Mans — that’ll be huge. And if in five years I manage to achieve a result there — well, fingers crossed. Daytona is also on the list. And I really love LMP2 — I’m a big fan of that kind of machinery.
But right now, the world is pushing us toward GT. Sadly, prototypes are fading out. So if I had to name two main goals — it’s Le Mans and Daytona. And in terms of championships — WEC.
That’s awesome. Viacheslav, thank you so much for the interview. Wishing you great success — I hope everything you’re working toward becomes reality!
Thank you very much!
Jastina Golopolosova
* All photography Evgeniy Safronov Photography. Evgeniy has been working in Formula 1 all season, but also accepts orders for related races. You can contact him and order a photo shoot for the 2025 season. This guarantees high-quality material for your team and the riders.
