It is the first Saturday in May 2021, a day that resonates with every Kentuckian. The day is as permeated with tradition as a mint julep is steeped with fragrant leaves. The words Kentucky Derby fill me with complicated and bittersweet emotions. I take in the sounds of horses snorting with impatience, their grooms softly crooning in response, hooves clattering across pavement and then quieting as they encounter turf. Jockeys listen to last-minute trainer instructions and lean down to clap the well-muscled necks of their mounts. Horse tails swish, saddle flaps fall after girth adjustments, owners send final farewell wishes for a safe ride. Thoroughbreds leave the paddock and enter the track for warm-ups and the parade to the post. The race is about to begin.
I will not be one of the millions of spectators. I will probably not even be in the same room as the televised race coverage. The mournful toll of My Old Kentucky Home, the handlers’ cautionary chatter, the slamming of the gates as steeds are loaded, and the eerily prescient calm before the start is more than I can bear.
To be fair, any competitive sporting event is hard for me to witness. In my children’s youth athletic competitions, I would flee the last inning if the game was on the line and one of my sons was up to bat with two outs, runners on base. I have been known to ditch close Seahawk games in the final minutes – rationalizing that a dog needs walking immediately. My husband and I have one irreconcilable difference: he will watch a full nine innings of a Seattle Mariners baseball game, even when it is clear they stand no chance of winning.
But horseracing is categorically different, and I cannot stomach a neck-and-neck contest where animals give their all while being beaten for their efforts. The most beautiful and talented creatures on earth are set forth on a thrilling and dangerous mission, the pace of which is accentuated by training, by breeding, by temperament, and by the roar of the crowd. There is no question that thoroughbreds love to run – their leisure-time, pastoral antics make that clear. Any seasoned jockey will tell you that there are times during a race when his or her mount will sprint faster, unbidden, when challengers approach. Competitive drive is deeply imbedded in the athletic instincts of successful racehorses.
But I have witnessed tragic accidents resulting from repetitive stress injuries, track turf defects, overuse of medications that reduce pain or enhance performance, or just the physical limitations and structural physics of impact. Unlike a human, horses cannot undergo surgery and walk on crutches after a break. If a horse cannot put weight on all four legs, it will not survive. Euthanasia is the only obvious – and humane – option.
I am heartened by the fact that leaders and compassionate minds in the horseracing industry seem to be responding and responsibly self-regulating. Most elite racehorses are pampered and receive the highest quality care, and they enjoy an abundant and affectionate partnership with their caretakers, exercisers, jockeys, trainers, and owners. But the economics of the industry circulate around the hard truth that horses are a central and essential commodity, a commodity that necessarily carries financial constraints. While we might spend thousands of dollars on torn ACL surgery for the family dog, a racehorse who can no longer win and has no breeding value faces an uncertain future.
I know that not watching the Kentucky Derby does not address the changes that need to be made. I also recognize that race day is an optimistic beacon for a vast community. Celebratory ceremonies tether us in uncertain times and provide comforting familiarity. The horseracing industry provides jobs for millions, and the answer is not to simply shut it down. But refusing to participate is a miniscule, silent protest that feels right while I search to understand my complex feelings.
Today interposes a sad and crushing conflict for me: my love of horseracing traditions and the beauty of its participants juxtaposed with the understanding that these animals are born, raised, trained - and sometimes discarded - solely for human entertainment. The Kentucky Derby may be the most exciting two minutes in sports, but for me, it is the most emotionally exacting.