Santa Anita Early Birds

Early Birds

Photo courtesy © 2013 Marcie Heacox

It has a special delight, the dawn. To see the city still asleep, to listen to your footsteps as if you were the only living human being on the planet, to know you're one step ahead of all those who sleep, to hear the morning newscast from the songbirds.

I'm on the highway that leads me to Santa Anita. The glow on the horizon announces the sun, its light crossing the branches of the trees, while a vitalizing melody sounds on the radio.

A few minutes after I park my car at the track parking lot, I walk to the external paddock where a Seabiscuit statue adorns the center. In a few hours, this site will be alive with fans watching and betting the horses and jockeys talking to trainers and owners. Intuition and hope will be called upon in search of the select one, the one that will bring joy to those who were lucky enough to see it, to foresee it, before the race.

For now, all is quiet, like Seabiscuit with his steel muscles. On the track, however, the activity is intense, dozens of Thoroughbreds complete through their daily gallops and some others preparing for key workouts. I go for coffee to accompany this cold morning, like every morning, that welcomes me.

Some trainers are out there, talking on their mobile phones, providing reports to curious owners. There is one particularly concerned.

Sipping coffee, I watch the horses exercise; I hear one name and another, register faces of the trainers.

Suddenly the horse arrives and the restless trainer talks to the rider, giving instructions. I follow the horse and the path to where the starting gate is located. Some friends arrive, early birds just like me. A while later a group of horses come out of the starting gate and the horse I'm following flies to the front of the group - steadily, waiting patiently, saving oxygen for a closing quarter of a mile that leaves the trainer happy.

I register what I've seen, the smile spreads through their group, releasing the tension from the trainer’s face and leaving him filled with expectation.

Once the horse returns, he passes very close to me and a wink by the jockey is just enough to close this chapter. I wait a moment so it won’t look very obvious and I write down the name of the trainer in my notebook. Hours later with the official workout list available in the press box, I find the horse’s name according to the rider who rode him and the distance that he worked. Now, I just have to wait.
A few weeks later his name is in the program; it’s a first-time starter. There are others in the field who already have raced and seem to be more ready. There's even another newcomer with much support from the press.

The day arrives. The deserted paddock of the dawn transforms with splendor into a colorful afternoon party. The sun shines on the chestnut and bay coats. The paddock judge announces: “Riders Up.”
I head to the window and bet with moderation. I do not usually play all my cards in one race and much less on a first-time starter. The race arrives and I can confirm what I saw. The colt starts off with plenty of speed and does not stop until he reaches the finish line — 5-to-1 is not a bad dividend.

It is still dark the next day, but I already want to jump out of bed. The sun also wants to illuminate earlier. Again, the highway is free of traffic and the radio plays one of my favorite songs. Once again, I arrive in the almost-empty track parking lot.

I pass by the paddock and stop to look at the statue of Seabiscuit. For a moment, it seems to wink one of its still eyes and I feel the eternal gift of his accomplishments on glorious afternoons, as alive as this new day that opens once again, full of generous news before me.