(MONEY Magazine) – It's a chilly afternoon in rural northwest Connecticut, and it's drizzling. I'm rounding a curve at 70 miles per hour, and my car is starting to spin out. I'm entering the second of three quick S turns in a 2.0-liter, 16-valve formula Dodge. The tires squeal and skitter beneath me, but I hang on through the curve and accelerate out of the third turn. I'm going for it! I roar straight up the hill, but the road is slick; my rear wheels slip. I slam on the brakes, jam in the clutch. Too late: Trees, grass and pavement dissolve in a whirling blur. I'm spinning...spinning...spinning...

If this had happened to me on the highway, I'd probably be dead. But I'm in a high-performance race-driving class at the Skip Barber Racing School at Lime Rock Park in Lakeville Conn. Although I'm ripping around this 1.5-mile racetrack as fast as I can go, I'm actually driving under very controlled conditions. In fact, only six of my classmates and I are on the track at the same time. As soon as I spin, an instructor sprints over to check whether I'm okay. I am. He lets me know when it's safe to pull back onto the track, and then he waves me on my way.

There are 14 men and one other woman in my class. Although two hope to make racing a career, the typical student is a 35- to 50-year-old male professional in search of high-octane R&R. "Most of these guys work like dogs," explains Mark Milazzo, program consultant at the Russell Racing School in Sonoma, Calif. "They race to unwind--sort of like really fast golf."

We're all here at Lime Rock Park because we want to drive race cars, but one benefit of our experience is that we're likely to become better street drivers too. Hurtling down a straightaway "at speed"--racers' lingo for terrifying velocity--is not only intoxicating, it's instructive. You learn the mechanics for controlling the car: how to concentrate at the wheel, how to focus far down the road so you can anticipate problems, why a car spins and how to straighten it out. "These skills can make you a safer driver," says Neil Boot, executive director of the defensive-driving training program at the National Safety Council. A graduate of a high-performance course himself, Boot adds: "There are very few people who can control a car as well as these schools help you to."

For details on five top racing schools, check our table below; you'll find others in the classified ads of mags like Racer and AutoWeek. Most teach advanced street driving as well as racing. The typical racing class lasts three days, runs 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. and costs about $2,000, not counting food and lodging. Some schools will tack on about $50 a day for liability insurance to cover damage to the car. The big schools put you in a single-seat, open-wheeled formula-type car--the kind you see in a blur at the Indy 500 or the Monaco Grand Prix. Advises Joe Rusz, senior editor at Road & Track magazine and an experienced racer: "Go to the biggest and best school you can afford. That way you'll get top-of-the-line, well-maintained equipment, and you can concentrate on learning to race, instead of hanging onto a car with a mind of its own."

When you come, bring a pair of driving gloves (cost: $25 to $75) and the memory, preferably not too hazy, of how to handle a stick shift. Racing schools provide flameproof suits and helmets, but I see the first morning that several of my classmates have slipped into their own one-piece, bright blue or red racing suits (typical cost: about $500). A number carry their own helmets (usually about $350), and I counted 12 shod in thin, stiff-soled suede racing shoes ($150 a pair on average). I'm wearing Levi's and Hush Puppies.

First we're given a 90-minute lecture on racing basics: braking, downshifting and "finding the line," or identifying the quickest route around corners. Then we climb into squat, 1,000-pound formula Dodges gleaming in bright Crayola colors. They look cute, but their 2.0-liter engines can power them upwards of 125 mph. Speed is everything in racing, and weight cuts down on speed. So the cars have tiny, four-inch gearshifts; three-inch-high windscreens and steering wheels the size of large flapjacks. There are no doors. To get in, I must clamber over the side, stand on the seat (which I notice is not padded) and shimmy into place. The car fits like a metal cocoon; my elbows are tucked in at my sides.

We start our engines and follow our instructor out of the pits onto the track. He leads us through a slalom around five traffic cones to get a feel for our cars' braking and steering. I found both to be incredibly sharp and precise. Next we're told to lean on the throttle, shoot through the cones as fast as we can and then lift our feet off the throttle abruptly to make the car slide out. This is so we can feel how weight distribution influences traction and keeps the car balanced when cornering at speed. Finally we begin running laps. With each circuit, we're encouraged to go faster.

Nothing prepares you for the feel of a race car. Though I am strapped into a five-point harness, I'm slammed back and forth against the metal interior with each turn. The stench of gasoline, the roar of the engine, the way the car lurches and bucks when I miss a gear are overwhelming. I am seated just four inches off the ground, and it feels as if the road is rushing up to my face. By the end of the first day, my thighs are black and blue from the buffeting, my right palm is blistered from clutching the shift too tightly, and I've spun my car off the track in the rain. Drenched and humbled, I join my classmates for a beer at the hotel bar. They are exhilarated. Exults Michael Zappa, 46, the CEO of a Pittsburgh company: "You can't get this thrill for any price!"

By the time the course is over three days later, we will have lapped the Lime Rock track more than 100 times. I brake closer and closer to the corners to conserve as much speed as possible before I inevitably have to slow down. I downshift scrupulously to have maximum acceleration when I exit each turn. On my final laps, all I am aware of is shifting, turning, focusing, braking. Watching my mirrors. Peering way ahead. At 110 mph, I'm lost in concentration. I don't feel like I'm going too fast at all. My world has narrowed to me and my machine. I'm really driving!