Helmet on, visor down, laser focus. The hairs on the back of my neck are raised as if they are soldiers standing to attention, every ounce of my being is pulsating with adrenaline, my mind is preoccupied with whether I truly have what it takes to beat the nineteen world class competitors that surround me.

Glancing around the grid, I see the nineteen other drivers and try to distance myself from them. We are all vying for the same thing – motorsport’s golden round, the Formula One World Championship – so I should be dead set against them yet I feel strangely connected. Despite the rivalries and battles, our hopes, dreams and fears are all intertwined and governed by what happens after the five lights go out.

We line up on the grid. I am faced with utter bleakness and seemingly endless run to turn one. Can I stay in front? Will I meet my bitter end with one misplaced wheel? Motorsport is haunted by the ghosts of drivers who never saw the chequered flag and I anxiously wonder whether I will join their morbid ranks.

Distraction is the most potent enemy of an elite racing driver and I found myself slipping into its clutches, the start is the most crucial part of the race and I cannot allow myself to let go, the fate of the hundreds of employees at the team rests on me scoring points.

The five lights come on: each as bright as a small star acting as a target for the drivers and a primer for the eager fans. The lights go out.

Surging forward like a raging bull, I fail to find traction off the line and go from a 1000hp ballerina to a bull in a china shop. No grip, no finesse, no control. Overwhelmed by other cars engulfing me like a lone soldier lost at war, I lose all sense of purpose and feel I have lost.

In the space of 50m, my championship dreams are dashed as the other drivers speed off into the distance and I am left languishing with my only role being to wrestle my car into submission.

Defeated and dejected, the adrenaline-fuelled autopilot F1 drivers are famed for leaves my body to be replace by a solemn state as that is to be where it all goes wrong.

Momentarily unaware, my wheel touches a seemingly innocuous patch of grass and I become little more than a passenger in the car I am paid to have absolute control over.

Speeding, spinning, smashing – I close my eyes and remove my hands to reduce the physical and emotional pain that is inevitably going to come to me. I wait for impact. The wait agonising as I know that I am about to become F1’s 33rd casualty in the heat of battle.

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I’m doing my English Language exam tomorrow which involves writing a story so I decided to practice by writing one about F1 and how the driver feels in the heat of the moment. Do comment your thoughts below.