Reader Story: Derby Dreams

Each Friday on The Cyber Saddle, we publish a reader-submitted story. Stories can be funny, heartwarming, or a simple anecdote that reminds other readers why they love to be around horses. If you have such a story, please send it to us at editor@nwhorsesource.com. If someone else's story touches you, click on the comments function and let them know.

Derby Dreams

~Anonymous

I learned about the Kentucky Derby through books, as a child. I had dreams of the Bluegrass State, of being a jockey and riding a horse with the power and fire to win, not just the Derby, but the Triple Crown. I wanted to be a part of the wind, a part of that fire that I read about in books, but I had no horse of my own. And, I was a girl.

"Girls aren't jockeys," people told me.

Not that they can't be, just that they "aren't."

So I made myself racing silks - pink cutout diamonds of construction paper pasted on the sleeves of a white shirt and cap - and I rode my imaginary horses around the backyard from the time school let out until my mother called me in to wash up for dinner or because it was growing dark.

I graduated from imaginary horses to a pony ride at the fair, and from ponies to trail rides through forests and rivers. Always on somebody else's horse. Never running like the wind.

The someone-else's horse part was okay. Jockey's never really rode their own horses (so I learned from The Black Stallion and other books). But to go no faster than a trot or the occasional canter, to ride in long western stirrups instead of tidy racing irons with my feet tucked up high where my knees should have been...it wasn't the same.

No one can tell me girl's aren't jockeys anymore. I know the history, now, that women have been riding and racing since before I was born. But I've come to realize that I am not one of them. I no longer need my construction-paper racing silks and to run like the wind, neck and neck with competitors, pushing one nose, one inch, ahead.

Now the trails and trees are my home. I still ride other people's horses. I still remember what it was like to have an imaginary herd of my own. But I've found that my pace in life is slower than a racehorse, that I'd rather able along and enjoy the scenery, stop to take a dip in the river, and help flick the flies away on a hot day.

So soon I will enjoy watching the horses run for the roses. I may even sip a mint julep and wear a silly hat. But instead of wishing myself atop the power of one of those powerful colts and fillies, I'll think back on my steadfast and trusty trail horses, and thank them for showing me the true speed of my dreams.