I don’t know why, but I get emotional about racehorses. As a kid I watched the feature race every Saturday evening. While boys knew baseball stats, I knew stats on horses and jockeys. My favorite all-time racehorse hero is Man ‘O War. I can’t even say his name without getting choked up. 

I never really got into show-jumping. Horses run to the glory of God, but they will not naturally jump a 7 foot barrier, unless being chased by a tiger or another horse higher up on the chain of command.

A decade after watching those races, I went to the Meadowlands Racetrack (NJ) one day and asked for a job. [It should be noted that I did have a good amount of prior horse experience. To be specific: private lessons in English & Western riding, and owning (a) horse(s).] I started hot-walking racehorses (to cool them down). That trainer was a prim and proper, sweater buttoned up every morning methodical trainer who was also never going to allow a girl to exercise a racehorse.

In the barn next door was an unkempt unorthodox trainer who would let me ride. I took a horse out onto the track, and did alright, but it was evident that it took more strength than I had to exercise the horses that were up and racing. However, a lifetime dream had come true: I’d ridden a racehorse on a racetrack!

I also got to see the Belmont stables.

They sent me to the farm in south Jersey to ride the racehorses being trained for the track. Sitting astride one of them brings to my mind the word “locomotive” … a 1500 pound perfectly functioning muscle mass aerobic machine, hurling itself through space, a force of momentum.

Of course, God says it best:

(He has) given the horse strength (and) clothed his neck with thunder

see it in Job 39:19 KJV

Horse fever is like chocolate. You have to be born it. You cannot try to like chocolate, and you cannot try to like horses. You just love them. Many of you probably have sons or daughters with horse fever, or maybe you have it yourself. It is not a phase: it will not go away. Take me for an example. My kids already know that after I’m gone, some of my ashes have to be spread in a bluegrass racehorse pasture in Kentucky.

God blessed me and allowed my first child to be born on the first Saturday in May, Kentucky Derby Day, within 15 minutes of post-time. Maybe it was God’s way of telling me I was getting a new life. While the horses paraded to the starting gate, I was running my own race against the clock, giving myself up for dead and pushing my first child out, fast (natural childbirth), because he was in a little bit of stress. (No one was more shocked than I was to see us both alive in the room afterward- but that is another story.) My brother-in-law was at his house watching the Derby for me, and we still have the teddy bear named after that winning horse.

Since we got rid of the TV years ago, the only thing I miss watching are the Triple Crown races every year: The Kentucky Derby, the Preakness, and the Belmont. I guess it’s good I missed this Preakness. My poor husband would have had a useless wife for a couple of days. (For those who don’t know, Kentucky Derby winner Barbaro’s rear leg shattered very early in the Preakness.)

News accounts of Barbaro say he was uncharacteristic the day of the Preakness. He tried to buck his jockey off on the way to the gate. He tripped the doors open before the start.

I wonder if Barbaro knew something, knowing or unknowingly, about the race.

It wouldn’t occur to a good race horse to just not run when asked to. War horses in the past were trained to run into a deadly clamor of swords and shields when asked to. My guess is Barbaro wouldn’t have just stood there once the doors were opened.

Before the race this horse was constantly monitored and given supreme medical attention. There are people who love him who are crushed and grieving right now. My heart goes out to all the people who love Barbaro, and everyone involved. May God be with them all, especially Barbaro, as they help him.