Exercise – The Racetrack

I’ve got thirteen minutes to my next class, let’s see what I can do.

I love racetracks.  I don’t care for what the horses go through to be race-ready, I hate large crowds and I cannot stand to part with my money for an event that I have no control over.  But some combination of all of these things makes racetracks a grand spectacle.  It’s the manicured perfection of it all, I believe.

Keeneland is a gorgeous place.  The parking lot is lined in a low cobblestone wall, and it only gets more antebellum from there.  The racetrack is fronted by a massive castle of stone and mortar, surrounded by a sea of perfectly-mown grass.  There’s never a cloud in the sky when I’ve been there.  The jockeys have pristine uniforms, and the horses are noble and fast.  The bettors, the horse owners, they’re all dressed for church, except that some of the women are wearing dresses just a bit too low-cut to greet the pastor in. 

The stands are a cacophony of excitement before the race begins.  We’re all equals before the horses come out of the gate, our hopes the same except for the specifics of the betting slips.  Our horse could win!  A neat bourbon helps grease the social machinery until it is spinning with a maddening hum. 

The bolts of that grand device fly from its gears when the race begins, its fabric tearing as the crowd explodes.  We don’t know these horses, we couldn’t pick out the jockeys in a crowd, but we both love and hate them now.  Our horse is never fast enough, it never turns the corners well.  We’re in a dream where nothing is moving as fast as it should, and the monsters are all on fast-forward.  For most of us, that dream is a nightmare.  We go back to the cages, dejected but willing to place our hopes on another field.  That low feeling is filled with hope as we get back to the stands.  This time, I know it.  This time I win.  This cycle repeats itself as the day goes on.

Only the horses are indifferent.

Tagged as: exercise