Racing Widow

Horse Racing: The Sports Widow Revels in her Great Equestrian Moments

May 7, 2007 10:53 AM | 0 Comments

The victory of Street Sense in the 133rd Kentucky Derby, with Queen Elizabeth II as an esteemed spectator, reminds me of my personal history in the equestrian realm and prompts me to establish my baseline credentials (or perhaps, more descriptively, my lack of credentials) in this area of sports. Put succinctly, when it comes to horses, I do not have any street sense.

For one thing, I don't think it's all about giving your trusty steed lumps of sugar (in an open palm) or plying them with sweet carrots or stroking their manes. As an extreme amateur, it's more about never standing behind them so that you're vulnerable to being kicked and needing to show them who's boss. I failed in the latter category.

While in grade school, my cousin Wendy used to show horses. She had an Arabian, and my brothers and I used to make guest appearances at her shows, as well as her stables near Waukesha, Wisconsin. I was always assigned to Myrtle, who was a gigantic, lumbering quarterhorse, yeah hands high (I'm not sure what a hand is, but she was one big, honkin' horse). Because Myrtle was slow and mild, she was the horse of choice for young lasses like me. This also earned her the nickname Myrtle the Turtle. Myrtle was plodding and she was regular, so it seemed like we spent more time stopping than trotting or cantering to allow her to offload, so to speak.

Then, while attending the University of North Carolina Hill (UNC), I took an English riding course. I remember thinking that riding English would be really snooty and not as much fun as riding Western, but I actually found it easier and less traumatizing to ride English, except for one fact: In this case, I was always assigned to a horse named Sunshine. I have learned to be very distrustful of nicknames. They frequently don't capture the true essence of an individual's personality. Sunshine was NO ray of sunshine. Sunshine was demonic, wild-eyed and had it in for me. As we left the corral, she used to grind my leg against the exit post and one time, she tore off into the woods with me clinging to her neck. I managed to avoid being thrown or decapitated by low-hanging branches, but this sent me on a hiatus from horse riding.

So, it's with these precious moments behind me that I witnessed a couple of races from the safety of the stands or a picnic blanket. In 1988, I went to the Preakness with friends and had a total freak-out over what to wear. I don't think I ever found a hat, which must be a faux pas. Then, on one of my first dates with my husband Bryan, my Sports Fan, we attended the Foxfield Races in Charlottesville, VA. On this occasion I mostly heard the thunder of horse hooves, caught glimpses of their calves or jockeys and ate some great food, including boiled shrimp made with Zatarain's seasoning. Bryan impressed me with this Cajun approach to shrimp.

What are your memories of riding horses or witnessing horse races?