Horse racing

Every year from as early as I can remember, I've watched the Kentucky Derby, the Preakness and the Belmont. My grandfather was a horseracing fan (taping over my baptism video with a running of the Preakness - whoops!) and my mother after him. II grew up in a family that loved the sport.

In April of 2008, my mom and I went to Arkansas on my high school spring break. It was a follow-up trip made after visiting Kentucky a year before and watching the horses run at Keeneland. Oaklawn Park was another fabled track and we were determined to see it! There was the first time I saw Eight Belles run: a magnificent mare. I clicked pictures eagerly from my place on the outside rail as they broke from the gate.

When Eight Belles broke down in the Derby that year, I was devastated. I felt a personal connection to her; I wasn't just another spectator who knew nothing about the horses and wanted the long-shot filly to pull through. As I watched her collapse on the track, I knew I had to understand this racing world better. I researched it all for a project and came away with a terrible sense of being torn. The sport I loved so dearly - running physically undeveloped horses, pounding on their fragile joints, recklessly inbreeding. The list went on. I knew that as someone who cared about animals I couldn't support these rituals. But I couldn't keep myself away from the seemingly exuberant air of the track.

Later, I went to a local track one day on one of their big race days. As we watched the horses turn the bend in one of the less important races, scorching down the stretch, I noticed one of them had something flapping around their feet. It only took me a second - and much before everyone else - to realize that it was her feet flapping around her ankles. Both fetlocks had completely blown out and still she struggled to run. It was absolutely heart-breaking. The vets rushed out, errected a screen and euthanized her immediately. It wasn't the euthanization that bothered me, of course, but the way that it all seemed so routine. I read the paper covering the event the next day and saw no mention of Little Harbor's breakdown. As though it hadn't even happened.

So when I watch the Kentucky Derby now, it's with my heart in my throat. I want those horses to have a safe trip. I want them to move on to those lush breeding barns where they can - for the first time in their lives - be horses.