Why we race and why we keep racing

"Why do you race?"

I've been asked that question a lot.

It's different for all of us. Driving a race car is an unbelievably tough thing to do - it requires great physical strength and endurance. It needs cat-like reflexes and anticipation. Your focus must be razor sharp and you cannot let anything in your mind stand in your way, including yourself. You must be fully committed, both on and off the track. It can be at times a very selfish sport, but you need to be selfish in order to achieve the objective, to be the fastest.

I raced because I loved it - when growing up, I honestly couldn't imagine myself doing anything else but hustling a race car. I loved the challenge of pushing my limits and facing fears like, "can I take this corner flat out?"

My favorite part was being in control of the car when it was on the ragged edge or "the absolute limit" as we like to call it in the racing world.

Picture "the limit" as a tight rope - and you're walking on it while trying to balance yourself. One small mistake and you fall off. Most of the time, a racer pushes to this edge in qualifying and that's when a driver needs to risk it all to be the fastest.

Knowing that no one could beat me on that day was a very special feeling that you don't always get to enjoy.

In an actual race, my favorite thing to do was hunt down my opposition, outsmart them and race them as hard and as aggressively as I could.

I loved banging wheels with someone, the physical nature of it and getting beat up in the cockpit.

I loved getting out of the car absolutely spent, both physically and mentally.

I loved icing down my knees and bruises, putting band aids on my bloody hands and elbows and feeling the sweat drip down my face

The satisfaction of a job well done was intoxicating.

Racing drivers are a different type of athlete, that's what makes our sport so much different from anything else; suiting up for a race is a special feeling, and one that you remember for the rest of your life. There are not many that get to do it, and that is what creates the fraternity within our sport.

"But aren't you scared?"

We all get scared sometimes; we still have that same feeling of self-preservation. We all know the risks that lay in racing. It's a dangerous sport. Over the last two decades, the safety of racing (not just open-wheel racing, but GT cars and NASCAR) has come a long way. The racing organizations like IndyCar and FIA all push for safety and never stop trying to develop new and safer ways of making the cars, and tracks.

Most racing drivers don't really think too much about the dangers. The moment a racer starts thinking about being hurt is the moment that that driver has lost, and probably will be hurt. A driver's mind can't focus on what they have to do. They lose their edge and the aggression and concentration that's required to manhandle a race car and push it to its limits.

"What's it like to crash?"

Like most racing drivers, I've had some big crashes. And crashing hurts - A LOT.

Depending on how fast you're going with the impact angle and G-forces, it can feels like you're getting smoked by 12 linebackers all at the same time. It hurts all the way to your bones.

The best thing is to understand why you crashed. That, in my books, is the biggest key – it helps a driver's confidence to understand their mistake and learn from it. The scary part is not knowing why a crash happened. The second is getting back into the race car as soon as possible - the more a racer lets it fester in his or her mind, the more difficult it can be to get back in and put the hammer down.

"Have you ever experienced the loss of another racer?"

I was racing in Formula Ford in 2001 and was at Mosport as a spectator to watch a friend who was in a higher formula of racing than where I was at.

His racing series was the undercard to the main event - the Trans-Am series. The driver competing in Trans-Am had a serious accident at Turn 1 and later passed away at the hospital. I remember we all left the track that day with heavy hearts and crushed emotions.

I didn't know the driver personally, but still the loss of another racer is difficult. Drivers are close that way - even though you may not know the person you still feel somewhat close to them, because you're out there doing the same thing they are and you develop that respect with each other.

I had to wait weeks before I was able to get back into the car. But when I did, I knew that I had to focus and concentrate on the job at hand. I would have to fly by the turn that took that Trans-Am racer's life.

I needed to think about each turn, each breaking reference marker and each turn in reference.

Then I had to do it again.

Then I had to do it again faster.

And faster.

Then faster, with more aggression, each time around the circuit. That's how I was able to settle back in.

I was just 18 at the time. The older a driver is the more experience he or she will have in getting back up to speed.

Last week, IndyCar driver Justin Wilson tragically passed away after struck by debris during a race at Pocono. It was a devastating loss for his family and everyone in the IndyCar and racing community - drivers, teams, mechanics, safety workers, the Holmatro safety team, track marshals and fans.

There's a fraternity among drivers. They're brothers and sisters racing each other every weekend. Some are very close, others not so much. They've all banged wheels and traded paint with one another, knowing that they must race aggressively. But they also try to take care of one another.

This Sunday marks the final race of the IndyCar season and a champion will be crowned. But for these athletes, a championship may not exactly be what they are after. All 25 of them will suit up and belt in.

I can't speak for all of them, and I don't know what their motivation will be. But if it were me, my main motivation would be to get the win for Justin and push as hard as I can the entire weekend.

Because that's what a driver does. That's the job. That's the passion.

Twenty-five hard-nosed racers go toe-to-toe to see who brings home the win, because that's what Justin Wilson would have wanted them to do.

Each one of them want the win to show that they were the best on that day, while others will want to dedicate it to the 37-year-old from South Yorkshire England who was nicknamed Badass.

Because racing is badass. That's why we suit up and why we race.