IT SEEMS obvious: A writer writes and a driver drives. But what happens when the one who types tries his hand at driving like a race driver?

Having spent dawn till dusk with the Formula BMW Asia, this writer has learnt that it is best he sticks with his day job - if his employers still want him and his crippled body back, that is.

What follows is the tragic take of mixing illusion with reality.

MUCH EARLIER...

Back in the day, race drivers used to party every night like it was their last. Given that those were the days before safety devices like crash barriers and race harnesses, you could see the sense in that.

So, it was not unusual for these fast-living beings to turn up for the races with their God-given talent and sleep-deprived eyes.

Those days are over. Talented or not, no one can sashay from disco to track. Becoming a race driver is something of a precise science that demands careful grooming likened to bringing up an heir to a throne.

Formula BMW Asia was designed to do just that: school budding race drivers in every facade of being the modern professional like Schumacher.

This ranges from learning about public relations, marketing and technical bits about car set-up and, of course, the small matter of driving.

On the invitation of German automotive component supplier ZF, a motley band of journalists got to spend a full day focusing on the bit about driving a Formula car.

Hey, it's just driving... how hard can that be?

EARLIER...

It didn't take long to realise why Sepang was called the hottest race in the world until the circuit in Bahrain came along. Stuffed into a fire-retardant race suit and a balaclava over the face, the world was a steamy blur - this was before even getting near the race car. Bahrain must surely be the hottest race in the universe, methinks.

In pictures, the FB2 is a virtual doppelganger of the ones driven by the likes of Kimi Raikkonen and Lewis Hamilton. In the flesh though, it is much smaller. Instead of a raging 2.4-litre V8 that tops out at 19,000rpm, the FB2 has a 4-cylinder 1.2-litre engine from a BMW motorbike.

Maximum oomph is a docile-sounding 140bhp at 8,200rpm. But, as we soon found out, that is plenty of power for something weighing a mere 455kg. As instructor Enzo Mucci put it: "The driver is probably the single heaviest component in the car."

I happen to weigh 70kg, which translates to a good 15 per cent increase to the weight of the machine.

LATER...

After learning (and vaguely mastering) the technique of getting in and out of the FB2, as well as figuring out the controls, it was time for a brief practice drive to get used to working the three pedals tucked deep in the car's nose cone.

The FB2 features a six-speed sequential gearbox. But you can't just hammer home gearshifts like you do on a TV game. Instead, you have to use the clutch like with a regular road car.

To make things even harder, you have to blip the throttle while simultaneously engaging the brakes and the clutch to downshift for a corner to avoid twisting the gearbox into a mangled mess. That, for the sake of those who drive only automatics, is three pedals activated by two feet and a stiff shift lever for the right hand.

Chief instructor Chris Wassernann puts it lightly: "You should caress the controls like it was a woman." Enzo puts it more accurately: "It's like learning to juggle while travelling at 180kmh."

This manoeuvre is tricky enough in a road car, and made even harder in the FB2 where the pedals are placed close together. Imagine the way children stand when they really need to go to the toilet - that's the way the driver's lower body is in the car.

After making awkward jackrabbit hops, stalling the engine and, in general, putting up a pathetic show of mechanical empathy, most of the group manage to get the hang of the car. The overall feeling was that we would not turn an expensive race machine into expensive scrap.

FINALLY...

By 4pm, it was finally time for the track. Detecting the tension in the air, Wassernann has these words of advice: "You can pit in earlier once you have had enough."

The first lap went rather well, although some drivers obviously hadn't realised that you are supposed to go fast in a race car and you are actually supposed to rev the engine like you want it to explode, which should be somewhere beyond 8,000rpm.

After all, the real pros consider eardrums bleeding from the blaring exhaust and having every joint in the vertebral column shaken "just another day at the office".

For us, though, the laps seemed to go on forever. The mix of aerodynamics and sticky slick tyres allowed the featherweight racer to take corners at speeds that are simply not possible for any road car. And with every turn, this writer (now a grim-jawed pretend-race driver) gained confidence to go faster and brake later for the corners.

Until he overstepped his supposed 'talent' and ended up pointing the car in the direction it came from. Interesting sensation it was, as other race cars came charging towards him and only just managed to avoid crashing into the spun car. Like a cat that had lost one life, he just zipped right back to the the pits to squander the remaining track time.

THE NEXT DAY...

If the day at the track had been tiring, the following day was even tougher. As this make-believe race driver returned to his real life of sitting in front of a computer, his hands were still sore from man-handling the FB2's controls and his ears still reverberated with a dull ringing sensation. His bum ached from the un-cushioned seat and his shoulders were numb from the relentless vibration in the cockpit.

That he still managed to file this report shows he's passed his first lesson at Formula BMW Asia. Raikkonen and Hamilton must be quaking... with laughter.

The writer is editor of Torque, a monthly published by SPH Magazines.