I become like an enthusiastic child in my following of Formula 1 motor racing. The cars themselves are things of beauty, the wings and bodywork aerodynamically honed down to the tiniest detail after thousands of hours of design, data collection and analysis in wind tunnels. Their sheer speed is exhilarating to watch: 0 to 100 mph in around 3 seconds, top speeds of over 200mph, all out of a three litre engine. And the braking power is awesome: from 100 mph to stop in around a second flat. The scream of the V10 engines wailing up to 18,000 revs per minute (most road cars would expire if pushed over 7,000rpm) is both ear splitting and spine tingling. Television coverage does Grand Prix motor racing little justice. Some of the 'in-car' footage is impressive. But to really grasp the sheer jaw-dropping speed and agility of the cars and to appreciate the skill and fitness of the élite group of human beings who are the drivers - you really need to see them 'in the flesh'.

Where are the laws of physics now?
Going to a Grand Prix can be a very expensive business for those with modest budgets. So in the last two years I've taken to going with a group of friends to test days at places like Silverstone circuit in England - where anything up to ten of the F1 teams can be running their cars exploring the boundaries of reliability and performance and trying out new aerodynamic parts and tyre compounds. With no entrance fee, smaller crowds and the possibility of watching the cars from a variety of viewpoints for up to 6 hours each day, it's a great alternative to a race.

There, first hand, you can see the cars almost scoff at the laws of physics. F1 represents a union of technological and engineering excellence, teamwork, strategy and innovation, fused with the exceptional talent of the drivers who are as far ahead of us in driving ability as a world class sprinter would be in running. In F1 there is the continual search for excellence of the entire package, a methodical quest for continuous improvement of the car's motion and dynamics. This excellence is like what attracted some people to Christ in the Gospels: "He has done all things well", they said (Matthew 7:37).

"...he was not just driving out of his skin, but almost out of himself!"

The driver may view the car as an extension of himself and his body - sensitive to every action and reaction of the car so that the team can better exploit its set-up potential. The driver is strapped painfully tight (in an almost lying down position) into a seat that moulds his body shape so that he isn't thrown around by the huge G-forces during accelerating, cornering and braking. Imagine how your innards would feel braking hard from 185mph to take a 40 mph hairpin in about a second and a half only to immediately catapult yourself back up through the gears accelerating again on the exit. The concentration levels have to be total all through the usual 90 minutes of a race.

Drivers often talk about driving 'on the limit' - that teetering edge between the maximum of their and the car's ability and the potential catastrophe if it all gets out of shape. Senna used to speak of his desire for almost a transcendent experience of touching the limit and then going beyond it. As he once said: "with your mind power, determination and your instinct, you can fly very high." To look at some of his qualifying laps in Monaco - one could say he was not just driving out of his skin, but almost out of himself.

What drives the driver?
Senna was also upfront about how important his faith was to him: "Thanks to God, I have a deep faith in God and in Jesus Christ. My life changed greatly from the moment I experienced that - the strength that emanates from God. It gives strength throughout the tough moments and lots of joy in the happiest moments."

Speaking about the day he won his first Formula 1 World Drivers Championship he said: "I felt God's presence very strongly on those days. I had the feeling that I was with Him and that He was with me. That's an experience so many people have had but few people are brave enough to talk about it, because it's delicate. However, I am not afraid."

One of the great sights after a Grand Prix is the way a driver shares the elation with the whole team. They know the importance of passing on the thrill to the many others who have contributed to the success - sometimes even the achievement of scoring a few precious Championship points. The driver knows he is utterly dependent on them for his own safety, the meticulous preparation of the car, the pit stops, the race strategy. Often the champagne bottles from the podium end up back at the preparation bays at the team factory. When the smaller teams achieve significant results and raise their performance well beyond the perceived sum of their parts, the celebrations can be more raucous than those of the top teams who regularly take wins.

The reason to continue?
One difficulty I have with F1 is the utter obscenity of the money involved. One day I was being shown around a part one of the team's factories where they produce third scale models of cars that are still 'on the drawing board' for testing in their wind tunnel. The designer picked up a wheel from the model in his hand, made of shiny black carbon fibre and said: "That cost us about £5,000 (sterling)." Each engine (and they can use several during a weekend) costs around £250,000 stg. Enough said.

The memento mori (remembrance of death) that every human being must face is far more to the forefront of an F1 drivers' mind by the very nature of their profession. "You can be gone in just a fraction of a second," said Senna. "You either face it in a professional manner or drop it (i.e. give up)." A week after Senna's own tragic death at Imola in May 1994, his former team mate and close friend Gerhard Berger said at a press conference: "What is the point to take still the risks that are everyday involved in this job? That was my question to myself in the last week. But the other side is… Basically I don't love anything other. What I love is driving racing cars." And I love watching them.

I know I'll never be a Senna or a Schumacher, especially having driven in a basic single seater racing car. It was a great exercise in humility for me, teaching me just how difficult it is to continually maintain the perfect racing line and to carry speed through corners. Perhaps there is an analogy there with a desire to run the race and hold direction (as St Paul would say) not just on a track but in life itself.