Two Minutes

The behemoth of metal cages looms ahead, in an ominous single file line, their doors are open, threatening, menacing. The leader that is assigned to me walks alongside, talking soothingly. It wasn’t working. My doomed expectations has shredded my nerves, but I have to appear calm. It is going to be over in two minutes.

I stood behind, waiting my turn. There were others who had to get into their stalls before me, two at a time. Number one, and eleven. Two and twelve. Three and thirteen. Two men stood by each opening to encourage each to get in, until twenty two of us had willingly entered. They locked the front and the back and I am encapsulated in a space slightly wider than my shoulders. I smelled sweat and fear, excitement and terror. I glanced at the others through the mesh walls, but their faces revealed nothing. One looks back at me and grimaces. My leader stands up on a ledge next to me, his knee touching my shoulder. He balances with one hand holding a bar above him, the other holding me steadily. I stared at the front. I adjusted my goggles, waiting.

 Some leaders are yelling and cursing at the gatekeeper. Wait. Hold on. Number eight no good, no good. Hey hey hey! C’mon C’mon. We’re good here. Ho, ho! Yep. Fifteen good. Number eight is good. Okay, last one in! Yep! Yep!

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. Only a few more seconds now. Everyone was locked in, looking straight ahead, their hands knotted into handfuls of mane, right over left, crouching forward, anticipating. Hold still. There is a tiny moment of suspended, agonizing silence.

BBBLLLLAANNNNGGGG!! 

The bell is piercing, deafening. It scares me. The gates fly open and the cages release the horses. Their heads raised, hindquarters thrusting, scrambling. Ears pinned, eyes rolling. Rearing, leaping. Staggering, bumping. My head whiplashes. My arms are yanked forward from the leap, but I hold tightly. My vision blurs as the large, dark masses frame me from all sides. They push into me. Force me over. I fight to stay straight. I keep looking ahead, seeking one that I can follow. 

It is as if I’m in a metal barrel and dozens of people are banging the sides with sledge hammers. The noise of thundering hooves and jockeys shouting distracts me. I fight to concentrate. One misjudgment, a bad step and it will be fatal. There are no brakes to check, no way to slow my speed. The whistling and roaring in my ears gets louder when we get to “the wall.”  The grandstands. We ride past a maelstrom of color, people waving, cheering. Jumping up and down, flags, cameras flashing. Look ahead. Glance left, then right. There is an open space. Go! 

Instantly horses surround me again, so close that sweat and dirt splashes against my face. I am squeezed in. Get out! My foot touches the body next to me. Hey! Hey! Arrrggghhhh! A jockey yells. He is trying to cut me off. No. I can’t check; we are going too fast. I hold steady and he retreats. Another body on my right. Passing. My elbow brushes his. I drop in behind him, drafting.

A gap opens next to him. Get up there! I see bright blue blinkers on my left; the nose at my flank. He wants the same gap. Then just as quickly, he fades out of my vision. I am still in a group of feverish, ballistic energy. Four to my left, maybe three on my right as we fly around the second turn and into “the wall” again where the roaring crescendos unbelievably. The grandstand crowd is in a frenzy. I see two horses ahead and the empty track, a visual tunnel bordered by the white rail and the looming grandstand.

The red and white pole flashes past on my left. Two furlongs to go. I have to move now. I’m surprised there is no one next to me. The rail. I stay parallel and pass another on my right. More open space. Move over. One more up ahead. Get next to him.

 I get closer. Hey. Go. Go! Straight. Over. Center. I glance behind me. My rival fades but the closers are coming. The last minute spoilers will soon be taunting, threatening. Two seconds. Someone is now parallel to me. C’mon, faster. I push the neck harder, urging. My feet are swinging for more momentum. I hold my whip low, showing. I feel a slight surge. He holds next to me for a stride and drops back behind me.

With renewed velocity he challenges again. Him. Me. Together. Raaahhh! I scream! Get it! Get it! Me. Him. His saddle is next to my horse’s shoulder. Then we match each other. A mirror of will, determination, endurance. Me. Him.

Five more steps. Him. Me.

Four. Three.

 I pull ahead. Me. Him.

Two. One. Me.

Yes! Yes! Yes! Cameras flash from the rail. We’re done. It’s over! The finish. I fist pump into the air. I stand up, and brace down on the sweaty neck to slow. Others ride up next to me. Good job man! Yaaahhh! We bump our clenched fists.

We did it! I slap my horse on the neck, and his ears prick up. He shakes his head gleefully. He knows a win too.

Slowing to a jog, the adrenalin is barely fading. We both are gasping. An outrider appears to help me. He grasps the rein. I am weak from exertion, exhilarated, incredulous. Grateful for him. My legs are numb, rubbery. I can’t think.

There is the winner’s enclosure. Where dreams are honored. The massive, heavy, pungent blanket of roses is draped across my legs. People are grasping my boots, reaching for my hand, congratulating, laughing, beaming. I stuff my hands into the flowers and tear out handfuls of petals. I throw them into the air, creating a rainfall that lands back on me and tickles my horse’s back.

Twenty two horses try but only one can win the Kentucky Derby.