Opinion

59 degrees and raining. Two old geldings, one dark bay, one white, huddle under a tree in the front field, heads hung low, noses inches from the ground. The rain creates a sheen across their backs. 

Nothing like a winner. When I rode races, I couldn’t understand the enjoyment, the interest of the owners. How could they get so excited, they’re not riding the horse? Now, that I can’t ride, don’t ride, I understand.

52 degrees and sunny.

Beautiful Monday morning after a few days traveling and a few days racing. It’s spring time, racing season, horses on the grass, miles on the car.

“Does he have any allergies?”

Miles chimes in, “Not that we know of.”

The nurse laughs.

He’s making friends.

The nurse asks, “Miles, do you know what surgery you’re having?”

“Hernia.”

43 degrees and cloudy.

Well, that’s what my phone says, my eyes tell it differently.

The light gleans through the windows like knives heaved at a cutting board, flashes at each window, upstairs, downstairs, hallway, kitchen, an orange and blue whirl coming from the east. I hit the button on the coffee maker, grab my phone and my camera, still in slippers, and scramble outside, knowing that it’s one of those sunrises. Over and just to the left of the bank barn, deflecting through the trees, cutting through the water tower in the distance, somehow leaping over the mountain range, the frame.

52 degrees and showers.

Steady rain this morning. Dictina’s Boy and Border Agent huddle near the front gate, wet, heads down, ears back. Kissin Conquest and Eagle Poise huddle near the back gate, wet, heads down, ears back. Dry, pristine sheds stand on the other sides of both fields, untouched. Perhaps, I’ll convert them to something else…office, chicken coop, cabana bar.

I’ve begun to read Kim Bailey’s blog most mornings. The British trainer offers updates on his horses, changes in handicap marks, a few comments, thoughts, observations, photos and a joke. Oh, and the lede, he’s mastered this, leading with the weather every day. Now, in journalism school (if I actually went…), the professors always said the weather is not your lede. Well, times change.

I read once that writing is 10 percent talent and 90 percent not getting distracted by the Internet. Or something like that. There are mornings when I wonder what happened to my morning. Some flitter away, distracted by the Internet. 

I got distracted this morning, thinking and Googling Jeff Lukas. 

Lukas died last week. Before my time as a journalist, Jeff worked for his dad, Hall of Fame trainer, D. Wayne Lukas. I know all his other assistants – Dallas, Pletcher, Hennig, Kiaran – and know that Jeff Lukas was right there with them. A horse trainer. Simply a horse trainer. 

This from my friend George Baker, who serves as my eyes – the words – from Cheltenham this year. So good. 

Rolling down off the stands…came a noise that is impossible to describe. I will try. And I will not do the moment justice. The “moment” coming midway through a golden spring afternoon that will live long in the memory of those of us who are lucky to now say, “we were there”…

I broke my neck.

Well, that sounds cooler than saying I’ve got an “acutely herniated C6-C7” disc in my neck.

Acupuncture, massage, two methylprednisone dose packs, corticosteroid injection, chiropractor, rest – nothing. Doctor’s visits, X-rays, MRI, CT scan – at least a diagnosis.

“See that there, it’s either bone or disc lying on your nerve,” Dr. Rush Fisher said as I squinted at what looked like a black jellybean in a cloud of smoke on a computer screen. “That’s what’s causing your pain.”

“How did it happen?” I asked.