Corrupting Our Son Already

Well, we've taken our infant son to the tracks. What kind of parents does that make us?! Hopefully not too bad, as Keeneland has a reputation for being home to the best of the best horses.

Here is a photo of us dropping off our car at valet parking.

We tried to enter through the doorway by valet parking and, while Chris was speaking to the ticket agent, Neil and I remarked on the exquisitely dressed visitors and the gentle breezes blowing Chanel No. 5 in our direction. The ticket agent directed the three of us around the corner to the General Entrance. There, the hoi polloi jostled for their three-dollar tickets. The sartorial choices were decidedly more base. I noticed one couple in the crowd dressed beautifully and just as I thought to myself, "It is nice to see regular folk dressed so well," the ticket agent directed them back around the corner to the Wealthy People's Entrance. I laughed!

I certainly felt out of place as I galumphed in my flat-soled shoes, my baby tied around me like a peasant woman, my plain cotton shirt wrinkly. What's a mama to do?

First we watched as the stable boys paraded the horses through a courtyard. Betters had one last chance to see the horses' moods before placing their wagers.

Right before the race, the horses in that race are walked slowly along the track to the starting gate.

A bell is rung and the horses are off! We could watch the horses running live, also watch them on a giant television screen, and watch a computerized cartoon version of them in order to see most clearly which number horses were where.

In the first race, I was surprised to find myself caught up in the excitement. One horse (call him No. 2) began in first place and stayed in first place for half the race. I thought, "This is boring. No. 2 is just going to be in first place till the end, when he'll win." But No. 2 was all speed and no power, so he quickly tired. Half way through the race, he suddenly dropped back to second place, third, fourth . . . till he was last of 12 horses for the second half of the race! Ultimately, he ended eleventh of twelve.


Neil and I stayed for only two races, then left Chris to join his coworkers in the company box with its air conditioning, hors oeuvres, and wine. On our way out, I walked past some jockeys leaving the track. Without exaggeration, I probably weigh almost twice what those little men weigh.