I am quite confident that one of these beautiful May mornings of Preakness Week, I will have a car accident. My family raced horses for generations and the pomp and circumstance of the sport runs in my blood.
My father and aunt were even born on a Preakness Day. I pass Pimlico every morning on my way to work. The week so celebrated across Maryland I all but take my eyes off the road and lovingly gaze at Old Hilltop in all of her grace and glory.
Our own beloved and second oldest track in the country is dressed in all of her finery that week for the nation's admiration — from the beautiful flower baskets and lovely white tents to her fresh coat of paint and the treasured Woodlawn Vase.
And most exquisite of all, the occasional glimpse of one of the magnificent horses rounding the track in training.
I am lost in the sight and all it entails until a dark but honest voice in my head reminds me of the inherently cruel nature of the industry: The countless lives unnecessarily and heartbreakingly damaged or lost for mere sport and fortune.
To be reminded that I have profited from this disgraceful world shames and humbles me. Bless Homeboykris, Pramedya, Barbaro and all the others. May they have finally found their greener pastures.
Ann Russell Ashton, Baltimore