Category: Excerpts

Excerpt from my book, Racing With My Shadow

Winning my first stakes race on Kuja Happa (Belmont Park, 1981)

I was living my dream. I had finished among the top ten leading jockeys in New York for the Aqueduct meeting.

Belmont Park opened for the spring and within a few weeks I was the third leading rider and had the highest win percentage at the meeting!

I was doing extremely well considering that all the best jockeys were once again back in New York, and I had just recently transitioned to journeyman rider. I was so lucky.

Kuja Happa, a sleek thoroughbred mare owned by the renowned fashion designer “C.Z.” Guest, was shipping in from Maryland for a stakes race at Belmont.

Her regular jockey got stuck in traffic and couldn’t make the race. I was asked to ride her at the last minute and donned the unfamiliar silks.

On my way out to the paddock, one of the valets said to me, “Hey, little rider, this might be your first stakes win!”

I hadn’t won a stakes race yet, and was excited at the prospect.

We broke from the gate in good order, and I could tell Kuja Happa loved the going. However, after rounding the first turn, all the horses had passed us.

This worried me a little, but I didn’t try to rush her. I wanted to keep her happy and let her settle where she was comfortable.

After three quarters of a mile we were still in last place. It was time to try something else. I thought that maybe she didn’t like horses around her and that was why she had sucked herself back.

I wheeled her to the outside and as soon as I did, I knew I had pressed the magic button. She accelerated, taking off like a jet on a runway.

She blew by the pack and caught the lone horse out in front. It was a photo finish.

After the wire, I wasn’t sure if we had won or not. Angel Cordero, Jr. had been in front on the rail aboard Gemrock, a nice Dubai Stables filly. He hadn’t seen me coming because I was so far out in the middle of the course.

Angel looked surprised and a little upset as we pulled up.

“Do you think I won?” I asked him.

“Yeah. Congratulations, baby. Your first one?”

I nodded and felt a sudden rush. I was numb with both joy and disbelief. I had not only won my first stakes race, but beaten one of the top stables in the country, Dubai Stables.

In another week, the Saratoga race meeting would start. I couldn’t wait. The jockeys, valets, owners, and trainers were all excited to head upstate for the month of August. It would be a refreshing change and the closest thing to a vacation that most of us would get for a while.

Mom was also enthusiastic. At Saratoga, there would be a lot more opportunities to display her horse portraits and get new business.

Opening day at Saratoga. The grandstand mirrored a festival with colorful vending booths selling everything under the sun: popcorn, hot dogs, T-shirts, hats, racetrack paraphernalia, paintings, pictures, lemonade made with real lemons, and Häagen-Dazs ice cream.

A live band was playing near the outdoor betting windows. I couldn’t believe the crowd. Saratoga, for the month of August, was definitely the place to be.

All the activity got my adrenalin flowing. Having heard so much about this legendary place from the jockeys, valets, and trainers, I wanted to go everywhere and see everything.

I didn’t want to miss out on any of the action: the parties after the races, the polo matches, the softball games, and the places to go dancing.

It was exciting and even though it would be difficult to get mounts at this premier race meeting, I was glad to be in the middle of all the action.

I decided to enjoy myself and not get upset if I didn’t ride every day. I was a proven journeyman rider in New York now, so some of the pressure was off.

I would lighten up and take advantage of the social scene. I wanted so badly to feel good about myself as a rider and as a person.

On the first Saturday of the meeting, I was riding a horse called Wiggle Waggle in the second race. Heading into the turn, a new apprentice rider started to cut me off. He knew I was there, yet he kept coming in.

With two horses inside of me, I had no place to go. My horse clipped his heels as he cut me off. I was going down.

The next thing I remember…

I was floating up slowly, watching my body in the room below. Boy, was my body small. It looked so little lying there on the gurney, wearing all white.

I had on my white riding pants and a white t-shirt; my racing silks had been taken off. I looked so tiny and frail lying there with my arm contorted and twisted up over my head.

I continued to drift up toward the corner of the room. Two doctors were leaning over me, cutting my t-shirt. God, I never knew I was so small!

I looked over toward the far side of the room. There were some nurses around a big old oak desk, but they didn’t seem concerned with my being there on the gurney.

Wait a minute. Where am I going? Up! Up and…out? I must be dying!

Am I leaving the room? I am floating up. No, I can’t die yet! Wait! I can’t leave my mother like this. I have to tell her I’m sorry—I have to say goodbye. I have to tell her that I love her and that I am so sorry for ruining her marriage, her life.

I feel it so strongly. That’s all I care about right now. Nothing else matters. Nothing! I have to tell her how I feel. That’s all I have to do—and then I can go.

I was moving upward more slowly now. Looking down, I suddenly felt sad. I looked so young, so helpless. What a shame. I was too young to die.

I would go…except for Mom. I had to make things right with her. Maybe if I stayed focused on my body below, I wouldn’t leave.

Everyone was smaller, farther away now. My body below was the size of a pencil. I could feel behind me where (I thought) the ceiling and wall of the racetrack first aid room touched. Something was stopping me, because now I was just hovering, suspended high up.

I wanted to turn around. I wanted to see what was behind me, but somehow I knew that if I turned around—even for a second—I would go. This was my last chance. Although I really wanted to turn around, I thought it might be final.

Don’t give in! Don’t turn around! I felt I couldn’t take my eyes off my body down on the gurney below for one second, lest I turn and go. Concentrate! Focus!

I can go another time. Don’t give in. Don’t even think about turning. If I do, I won’t ever get back!

I fought the urge to turn around. I had no time to spare. I had to get back to tell Mom. That’s all that mattered. That’s all that ever really mattered. I know that now.

When I get back, I will tell her. Right away! Because I might not get a second chance! Focus!

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Excerpt from my book, Racing With My Shadow

Warming up Nice Catch before the race at Aqueduct

Frank Wright kept his word. The “good mount” he had promised me was Nice Catch, one of the best horses in Frank’s barn! I never thought I’d get a chance to ride him.

Frank explained, “I am trying to get Nice Catch to settle so he can come from off the pace in sprint races and run well in longer races, too. I’ve seen how you get speed horses to relax.

“I’ve watched you control horses that are positively rank with other riders. And you’re one of the best gate riders (leaving the starting gate) here in New York. You can get right out there on the lead and still get a horse to relax.

“You always manage to save something for the end. I’ve watched you ‘steal’ races on the front end, and that’s exactly why I’ve chosen you to ride my horse!”

Ah, Frank was so smart. Why couldn’t all trainers think like him?

As I warmed up Nice Catch in the post parade, I was in awe of the power he exuded. His every muscle was solid and well-defined. His neck and shoulders were massive. His muscular body was built for speed, poised to explode.

This was by far the best horse I had ever ridden. I thought that maybe I would be nervous with the pressure of riding a really good horse, but just the opposite happened. I wasn’t nervous at all!

All I felt was confidence, supreme confidence in this horse. Without a doubt, I knew I could easily get used to riding “good” horses like him, if given the chance.

When we loaded into the gate, my heart did beat a little faster, though. Never mind. Just another race. Business as usual, right?

Nice Catch broke sharply and forged straight to the lead. Easy, boy. Nice and easy. I knew that I would have a racehorse under me, but he was something else. He was an absolute powerhouse.

I took a nice long hold of the reins, relaxing my hands and arms. I could only hope that this would settle Nice Catch and let him know that I didn’t want any speed from him just yet.

Frank and I had discussed the possibility of sitting back off the pace and not going to the lead. But I was only to do this if I didn’t have to fight him.

If he would slow down on his own, it would take a lot less out of him. I waited to see if it would work.

Into the first turn we were in front, but I could feel him starting to relax. He had sensed what I wanted from him and stopped pulling on the bit. His stride shortened slightly, as he came back to me.

Good. You’re doing just fine. Frank taught you well. We weren’t out of the woods yet, though. Two horses were starting to pass us. Would Nice Catch get competitive and fight to keep his lead?

I didn’t move my hands and hoped for the best. I could feel him grow anxious. After a few tense moments, he let them go by. Good boy. That’s right. Relax. Wait on me.

I was very careful not to move my hands. Other than the slight pressure he was beginning to put on the bit, he was still doing okay. He was still waiting for me to give him the signal to pick up the pace.

As we neared the far turn, I could feel him growing impatient. He was tugging on the bit now, wanting to go after the leaders. Not yet, old boy. Not yet. This race is a little longer than you are used to.

I knew that as soon as I asked him, he would fire. Patience, patience. We’re in no hurry. I stayed cool, my hands never moving once from the time we left the gate.

But as we started into the far turn, I shortened my reins slightly, and he kicked into high gear. Nice Catch was covering ground so effortlessly. I swung to the outside of the other two and let him have his way.

Ah, what a feeling! This acceleration…riding a good horse…is so incredible. He cruised on by the other two horses and drew off to an easy victory.

Coming back to the winner’s circle, I noticed that everyone from Franks’s barn was there with big smiles. The cameras snapped for the win photo. I patted Nice Catch and jumped off.

Frank hugged me and beamed with pride. “Ahhh, my rider! What a ride!”

Frank Wright and me – a winning team!

 

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Excerpt from my book, Racing With My Shadow

Steve Cauthen and Me

Steve Cauthen was coming to the Meadowlands! The star jockey had moved to England just before I rode my first race. This would be his first visit back to ride in the United States.

I couldn’t wait! I was so excited at the thought of finally getting to ride with my idol. The press was out for this momentous sports occasion. They took a quick picture of the two of us.

As I stood nervously by my hero, I proudly reminded him that we had done a Trident commercial together. Did he remember? He said he did, although I don’t know if he was just trying to be nice to me.

After the last race there was a big party to celebrate his appearance. All the jockeys were invited.

I showered and changed, wondering if I would fit in. I was on unfamiliar territory without my boots and helmet. Would Steve notice me without my jockey silks?

At the party, I was talking to someone from the press when I saw that…Steve…had come into the room. My thoughts drifted as I watched him.

I hope he noticed that I rode two winners. Steve was talking to several people, making his way slowly over to where I was standing.

I tried to be cool and casual, but my heart was beating so fast. My palms were sweating as he came over and started talking to me.

All I could see was his grin. I had seen him in those pictures back on the farm and had wanted to be just like him…just like Steve…just like Steve….

What was he saying? He was saying something. And smiling. Nice smile, so genuine. What? He took my hand, and I floated away. Where was he taking me? I didn’t care…

The next thing I knew we were on the dance floor. It was then that I realized I didn’t know how to dance.  What was I doing? I didn’t expect this…

I had never danced with anyone before. Dance? Slow dance??? My heart was beating so fast, the music was so slow, too slow. What was I doing?

Steve knew how to dance? I knew he could ride… I could ride…but…whoever thought about learning to dance? This is not the time to learn. I don’t know how to dance and I’m dancing with Steve Cauthen!!!

I’ll fake it. What do I have to lose? I’m going to die of a heart attack anyway. Ugh. Why hadn’t I ever done this before? Don’t step on his feet. Concentrate. I can’t. I can’t do this.

“Um,” a strange voice stammered out of me. “I’ve never done this before. I’m sorry. I can’t. I really can’t.”

Steve reassured me that I was doing fine. I was?

He slowed down and told me not to worry, that I didn’t even have to follow his steps! I was so close to him that I went numb. I thought I was going to die. I was so nervous.

Steve talked to me as we moved across the floor. He spoke to me, and gradually I forgot to be nervous. I forgot that we were supposed to be dancing.

I didn’t notice that everyone was watching us; I was absorbed in him. No longer did I think about where to put my clumsy feet. They had already been there, and back again, to the music.

Then it was over. The dance had ended. Why did it have to end so soon? I loved to dance! I walked away, feeling as though I was waking up from a dream.

I will never forget my first slow dance. No, not as long as I live.

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Excerpt from my book, Racing With My Shadow

My first race at 16 years old – on Northern Snipe at Hialeah Park

I remember the first time I met Angel. Even though I had won with Northern Snipe, Vince’s owner wanted to put Angel Cordero on the tough little horse.

Although I didn’t know Angel personally, I decided it might not be a bad idea to tell him about his upcoming mount. I warned him that Northern Snipe could be difficult. The horse might try to bear out, but it was best to let him drift a little instead of fighting him.

The greatest jockey in the world looked at me with skepticism. He must have been thinking, who was I, a sixteen-year-old girl apprentice, to tell him how to ride a horse? He chuckled to himself, shrugged me off, and headed out to the paddock.

I went into the girl jocks’ room to watch the race on the television. At the start, the little gray horse was rank. He pulled Angel out of the saddle going into the first turn.

Angel started hauling back as hard as he could to try to bring the horse under control. Angel was now standing way up in the saddle, and it was obvious that he was having trouble controlling Northern Snipe.

While the rest of the horses ran ahead down the backstretch, Angel was still fighting Northern Snipe, trying to bring him in from the outside rail. Although they did finally manage to get back on course, the fiasco had cost them, and they finished far behind the others.

When Angel returned to the jocks’ room he looked at me in utter amazement. He showed me his hands, which were sore from pulling on the reins, and asked me how I had handled such a difficult horse.

I just smiled at him and got ready to ride the next race. I had earned his respect.

A few weeks later I told Angel that I admired his riding style, especially the way he used his whip. I mentioned that someday I wanted to be able to use a whip just like him.

Angel seemed pleased to hear this, and later that night he gave me three of his very own custom-made whips!

After Northern Snipe’s last place finish with Angel, Vince’s owner decided to take the horse away from Vince and give him to Allen Jerkens, a successful New York based trainer. The owner also wanted me to be Northern Snipe’s jockey again.

Riding Northern Snipe in my very first race at Hialeah Park (1979)

I wondered if maybe Angel had put in a good word for me. Or, maybe my record with the horse spoke for itself; I had never been out of the money with Northern Snipe.

Going to New York to ride Northern Snipe for Allen Jerkens would be my first chance to ride at Aqueduct. New York, The Big League. Finally, I had made my goal!

I was a little nervous about meeting the “Hall of Fame” trainer. I wondered what he would think of me. Probably that I was too young to be any good—in New York.

In the paddock, Allen Jerkens was abrupt, to the point. “I’ve only had this horse for a few days. It looks like you probably know the best way to ride him.” And with those brief words of wisdom, I was on my own.

When we got out onto the track, I was in awe. This was my dream come true. This was where Steve Cauthen had ridden! Riding by the huge grandstand in the post parade, I imagined all the trainers watching me. The best horsemen in the world would be making comments.

“Look at the girl apprentice, the one winning all those races at the Meadowlands. I wonder if she can really ride.”

“Maybe in New Jersey, but this is New York, The Big Apple.”

I wanted to make a good impression, the best one possible to the critical eyes upon me. I had hopes of riding in New York for the winter, when the Meadowlands closed.

Leaving the starting gate, I had a strange sense of freedom. It was like riding in an open field. Everyone gave me running room. It wasn’t like in New Jersey, where all the jocks rode bunched up and you had to fight your way into position.

I let Northern Snipe settle behind three horses. As we went around the turn I noticed a big difference from the shorter, sharper turns at the Meadowlands track. The turn here was more gradual, so it didn’t seem as crucial to save ground.

Instead of dropping in, I stayed on the outside of horses where Northern Snipe preferred to run. I could feel Northern Snipe taking hold of the bit as he started to make his move coming out of the turn. We charged down the stretch.

I might just win my first race in New York!

I remembered all the trainers in the grandstand and tried to stay cool and smooth. Don’t let the possibility of winning rattle you. Stay in sync…with the rhythm…of the beat…of his stride. Just ride…ride…ride…and ride.

We almost made it and finished second by a nose.

I was getting off the scales after the race, disappointed that I hadn’t won, but feeling happy with Northern Snipe’s effort. I wasn’t at all prepared for what happened next. Allen Jerkens came up to me, red in the face, and started hollering.

At first I thought he was kidding—like J. J. Crupi would—but then I realized that he was serious! He was very upset with me.

He yelled and blamed me for “getting his horse beat.” I was shocked and cringed in horror as he criticized my riding, saying that I rode a terrible race.

I felt bad… bad me. It felt like he knew me, the real me…like I had been shot in the stomach. It hit me so hard, so deep.

Nothing like this had ever happened to me before. Never had a trainer been angry with my riding, with me the jockey.

I was deeply hurt. Who I was, what I was…me the jockey…my very being had just been stripped away. With my jockey exterior torn away, I ran back into the girl jocks’ room. I didn’t want anyone to see me cry.

In the girl jocks’ room, I wiped away my tears. I felt very alone. This place…New York…it was so big, so impersonal…so cold. Maybe I wouldn’t like riding here, after all.

I looked at myself crying in the mirror. The me that I had seen in the mirror on those dreadful mornings at Garden State Park Racetrack was staring back at me. The bad, weak me was showing through those tears. Suddenly, I got very angry.

“Toughen up, you!” I screamed at the image staring pathetically back at me, a tear-streaked, sad face. That’s not ME. That’s not ME. YOU are not ME.

“I hate you!!”

I turned away from the mirror, angrily vowing to never again let my emotions come out. Never would I cry—not here, not at the racetrack. Never while I was a jockey. Never!

Soon after, I got another opportunity to ride in New York. This time I would be riding for a New Jersey trainer, and I knew things would go better. My faith in my ability to ride in New York was restored when the horse, Fight at Night, won.

My first New York winner even made the headlines in the sports section of The New York Times: “Five Winners for Pincay; Karen Rogers Scores.”

Next to the article was a photo finish of two horses dueling down to the wire. Was this a photo of the great jockey, Laffit Pincay, Jr., winning? Or, could it be… it was my horse, Fight at Night!

Excerpt from my book, Racing With My Shadow

Winning at Aqueduct

On the same day that I won the daily double, there was an incident which caught the attention of the horsemen—and got me on television.

I was on the lead going into the far turn when I heard a jockey screaming behind me. What was wrong?

As the panicked rider moved up along the rail inside my horse, I could see the problem clearly: jockey George Martens’ reins were dangling, no longer attached to the bridle. He was helplessly out of control.

Excerpt from my book, Racing With My Shadow

Beating Angel Cordero at Aqueduct

Not only had I made the leading jockey list after just four months in New York, I was getting more opportunities to ride quality horses. I was learning about “good” horses, and how very different they were from ordinary horses.

Good horses were special. They were gifted, both physically and mentally. Talented, athletic horses always seemed to be smart, intelligent horses. They didn’t run, they floated.

These horses were so well balanced you couldn’t feel their action as they moved over the ground: not the pushing off from behind, nor the pounding as each leg hit the ground. It was a fluid motion. I loved it when I got the chance to ride one of these horses.

With the nicer spring weather, the top racing outfits wintering in Florida or California filtered back onto the New York racing scene. The better-quality horses and trainers changed the whole mood of racing.

The riding colony seemed to change overnight, as well. No longer were the “winter riders” getting the mounts. The established “name” jockeys who had gone south for the winter now replaced them: Angel Cordero, Jorge Velasquez, Jacinto Vasquez, and Eddie Maple, to name a few.

These were the jockeys that trainers wanted to use. Even though it would be harder to get mounts, I looked forward to the challenge of riding with the best.

The first race I rode with all of them back made a big impact on me.

This is my big chance. I’m in the gate between two of the world’s greatest riders. To my right is Angel Cordero, Jr. To my left, Jorge Velasquez. I’m psyched. I want to beat them more than anything else in the world. I want to do it right here, right now. On their turf. Not at the Meadowlands, like I’ve done before. No. Right here. In New York.

Mansard, the dark bay horse with the white blaze on his face was trembling beneath me. I could feel him shake, as he anticipated the start. His neck was slightly lathered. I looked around behind the gate and saw that there were still three more horses left to load.

“Relax, boy.” I patted his neck, then wiped my hand dry on my pants. “You’re going to need it when it counts.”

“Karoleeena!”

I looked over at Angel sitting beside me in the next stall. He looked like a bumble bee in his black and yellow silks, hunched over with his goggles down. He was smiling at me. Karoleena. He always called me that. I smiled back at him.

“You goin’, baby? You got speed?” he asked, his expression changing to a more serious one.

“We’ll soon find out,” was all I said.

I glanced down at my colors. The black and white silks belonged to Barry K. Schwartz (of “Calvin Klein” jeans fame). I just had to win. I would show everyone who was back from Florida that I wasn’t just a winter rider, but that I could compete with the best and win.

Mansard could have had a top jockey on him, one of the many who were back in New York now, but his owner and trainer had chosen me. I wasn’t about to let them down. The jockeys to my left and right only made me more determined to prove my point.

“Baaang.” The metal doors slammed open. My horse came out first. He held onto the lead for the whole race and we won!

Even though the win wasn’t a stakes race, it was of great importance to me. It was the first time I had beaten the best New York jockeys—not the winter jockeys—on their turf.

Leading jockeys list – Belmont Park

I was gaining the respect of the top jockeys. Willie Shoemaker, a famous jockey based in California, came to New York to ride. Angel was sitting with him, watching the rerun of my race. I was behind them and overheard the conversation.

“See that jock on the lead?” Angel asked, pointing to my horse.

“Yeah.”

“Well, it’s a girl.”

“Nah. No way. That rider looks too good to be a girl,” was Shoemaker’s reply.

“Want to bet on it?” Angel asked.

“Wow,” said Shoemaker. “I wish I could get that low on a horse. I wish I could look as good!”

These words, coming from two masters of the game—Cordero and Shoemaker—meant more to me than anything.

I was also gaining respect from the trainers. But I could never forget that I still had the bug.

I thought about all the other successful apprentices who had made it in New York, only to fall by the wayside after losing their bug. Riding winners was still my best chance for continued success.

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Excerpt from my book, Racing With My Shadow

My relationship with the jockeys was growing as well. The New York riders were accepting me as one of them. One day Angel Cordero and I were getting on the scale before a race.

He looked at me with concern. “It’s not fair that you have to spend the day all alone in that room (the girl jocks’ room). You should be able to come in our rec room where we play ping pong, cards, and pool.”

“I don’t mind, Angel. Really. I like it back there. I like being alone.” I got on the scale and the valet handed me my saddle. After the clerk of scales nodded, I handed the saddle back and stepped off the scale. “Really, Angel. All I care about it getting to ride. I’m fine.”

But he insisted. “Listen, baby, why can’t you come in with us? Eat at the counter and play ping pong.”

“That’s okay, Angel. I don’t want to put anyone out. I’m fine, really.”

“I’m going to talk to the guys. We’ll have a vote. I’m sure it will be fine with them.” Angel winked as he took his whip from the valet and we headed out to ride the next race.

There was no stopping Angel when he set his mind to doing something. He was very much a leader with the other jockeys.

The next day he approached me. “Karoleena, I have some good news. We took a vote and the majority voted you can come in the rec room. Isn’t that good?” he smiled.

I wasn’t sure. “Thanks, Angel.”

Even though I had permission to join the other jockeys, I was reluctant to invade their space.

Angel approached me a few days later. “Karoleena, why aren’t you coming in with us between races? You’re allowed in.” He looked concerned.

“I don’t want the other riders mad at me.”

Angel laughed. “Come on, baby. Nobody would be mad at you. We voted, remember?”

With encouragement from Angel, I started spending time between races in the jocks’ room. My afternoons were really fun. They were the best times I ever had.

Angel Cordero, Jr, me, and Jerry Bailey in the Jocks’ Room

I played backgammon with Jacinto Vasquez, bumper pool with Angel, and ping pong with Jerry Bailey. I belonged. I wasn’t alone anymore.

I looked forward to my afternoons, as much now for the company as for riding races. Some days I rode seven or eight races, but I preferred to ride less and spend more time in the jocks’ room!

Initiating apprentice jockey John Santagata

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Excerpt from my book, Racing With My Shadow

Winning my last race: Northern Snipe and me, reunited

I’ve been putting off the inevitable. Every day I say I’m going to quit riding. Every day. I have been dating Pablo for seven months, and I guess it’s time to put riding behind me. God, if this is what You want me to do, then let me just do it today.

I was highly emotional. This was it. I would do it.

Maybe this was what God wanted for me. I didn’t seem to know anything anymore. Adept had won. My business was slow. I was fired from Dubai. Well, this is it, boys. My last race. My God, it’s Northern Snipe!

Here I was, reunited with Northern Snipe, the horse I had ridden in my very first race for Vince in April of 1979. Now, in 1984, I was back on him again.

He had changed hands many times, and was now trained by Debbie Casson. Things had come full circle. My first career mount, and now my last.

Our first race together, me and Northern Snipe

I thought back to those times at Hialeah when I lived in fear of Mom finding out about the secret. A lot had happened since then. I had been through the extremes of a jockey’s career: the good year as an apprentice and the difficult transition to journeyman.

I had been through, literally, all the ups and downs that came with it: spills and injuries, comebacks, struggling for mounts, and being a leading rider.

I had lived through the most difficult time of all, when Mom found out about Vince from the letter. And then I had met Pablo. Yes, it had been a long road.

Through it all things had changed, yet they remained the same. The long and winding road had led me right back to the same place I had started—riding Northern Snipe.

I wondered where the road had taken him before it brought him back to be reunited with me. He, too, had changed, yet remained the same. Now he was a snowy white instead of an iron gray—but he still liked to run on the outside.

I whispered to Northern Snipe, “Let’s win this one, boy, for old times’ sake.”

Northern Snipe made his typical big run, barreling down the homestretch. Come on, boy, COME ON! We got up to win by a head.

Pulling him up, I felt the tears flood my eyes. This was it. This was really it. I patted Northern Snipe and turned him around to gallop back to the winner’s circle.

Feel him gallop beneath you. Feel it for the last time. Farewell, sweet career! It’s been nice.

In the winner’s circle on Northern Snipe — my last race

My face was wet from the tears as I pulled my saddle off for the last time. I was resigned to it now. Nobody but God knew that I was ending my career. Not my agent, not the trainer, not anybody.

Debbie Casson, the trainer of Northern Snipe, looked at me as we walked back to the jocks’ room for the last time.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. She didn’t understand. How could she? She didn’t know I was quitting. I shook my head without explanation and hurried back to the girl jocks’ room.

I had not cried since riding Northern Snipe in my very first race in New York, when trainer Allen Jerkens had yelled at me, and this strange sense of history repeating itself seemed somehow worthy of noting. The horse, the tears, the first, the last….

How could I have known that this was just the beginning of things going full circle?

It was the beginning, though, the start of strange twists of fate weaving through my life like a theme, weaving a web which would eventually entangle me and take me back to my ultimate destiny… my past.

I wasn’t free. My riding had been a painted picture of freedom. Painted pictures on prison walls. This prison cell with no way out, would eventually reveal itself for what it was. Until that time, though, I would race ahead. Race into what I believed was a way out.

Painted pictures, prison walls, tangled web. But the web was not yet complete. I was the prisoner…yes, and me the jockey, too. Held captive. Yet, I was unaware of this. I was too busy racing full speed ahead.

Racing with my shadow.

For the shadow of my past had never left me. It had kept pace throughout, as shadows do. I hadn’t left it behind, like I had figured. It was still right there where it had been all along. It lingered, moving ahead when I did, slowing when I slowed.

My life had yet to go full circle. My past would track me down. There was no escaping. There was no way out.

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Excerpt from my book, Racing With My Shadow

Phil and I talked on the way to Palmetto General Hospital. I told him about my riding career. I think it was more to reassure myself of who I was (without Pablo), than to tell him anything.

He probably thought I was just another lunatic who imagined stories about themselves. I’ll bet he had heard a lot of those. He just smiled and nodded.

“How do you get from the Palmetto Hospital to Palm Springs North?” I asked casually, changing the subject.

Phil gave me directions, which I quickly memorized so that Grandma and I could make a quick getaway. I needed to get back to the condo to get the spare keys for the Jeep.

I hoped that Grandma was following us, but was afraid to look out the back door window. Phil might think I was trying to escape and handcuff me. I would need my hands free once we got to the new hospital.

At Palmetto General Hospital, the entrance lobby was packed. “Wait here,” Phil said as he went to check me in. I guess he trusted me. A few minutes later, Grandma came through the entrance.

“Grandma, you made it!”

She came over to me. “It wasn’t easy. But I stuck right behind that ambulance. I wasn’t letting you out of my sight,” she said, giving me a reassuring hug.

“Listen, as soon as the guard leaves, I’m sure we can make a break for it. They don’t know me here. They won’t be watching me.”

Grandma smiled and nodded. I think she liked the excitement. My grandmother, my accomplice. Wasn’t she great?

Phil came back over to us. “They want to see you inside. Come with me.” Oh, no.

“I’ll be right back, Grandma. If not, come and find me, okay?”

“Okay.” Grandma looked worried now.

I decided to act completely normal so they would trust me without a guard. If they left me unattended, it would be easier to get away.

I sat down in a little room, and Phil bade me farewell. “Well, my job is done now. Good luck.”

“Bye.” Leave, leave, so I can escape.

Too late. A woman entered the room. “Hi. We’re going to evaluate you, but we’re very busy. You’re going to have to wait a while. Would you mind waiting outside in the waiting room until we call you?”

Would I mind??? I would LOVE it!!!

“No, that will be fine.” I left the room casually. I spotted Grandma waiting for me and slowly walked over to her. I didn’t want to raise any suspicions.

“Let’s go slowly, Gram.” Phil was gone, and nobody was watching for me. Everyone seemed preoccupied. “Okay. Now. Nice and slow.”

Grandma and I left through the same doors I had come in. It was pitch black outside. When we hit the parking lot, I broke into a run. “Where’s your car, Gram?”

She stuck right by me. “Over there.”

We reached her car and got in quickly. Grandma was a bundle of nerves. I must say, I was a bit shaky myself. I kept expecting some massive guards to come running after me.

“Where do we go?” Grandma asked, starting the car and backing out.

I scrunched down in my seat. “Just get out of the parking lot and onto the highway. Then it will be safe.”

When we go to the highway, I sat up and sighed. What a relief! Following my memorized directions, we made it back to the condo in one piece.

“Come upstairs with me, Grandma. I’ll get the spare set of keys for the Jeep. Do you think you could run me back to Mount Sinai Hospial to get the Jeep?”

“Okay.” Grandma wasn’t too keen on my housekeeping. “Karen, you have to keep the house straightened up. What if somebody stops in?”

“I know. But nobody ever visits. Things have been so crazy anyway. I haven’t really cared about housekeeping recently.”

“If you want to keep a man, you have to keep the house nice,” she said simply.

“I know, Grandma. I haven’t done a very good job lately—of keeping a house or Pablo.”

I pulled Grandma away from the dishes. “Come on. Let’s go. I’ll do the dishes when I come home.”

Grandma seemed happy about that. And I promised her I would clean up the whole apartment, for good measure. I honestly didn’t care about the mess; it was a statement of my life.

When we arrived back at the hospital, it was late. I got the creeps. I hated the place.

“Grandma, I’m afraid they may still be looking for me. They may have someone watching the Jeep. They may know by now that I escaped from the other hospital.”

She looked worried again.

“Listen. This is what we’ll do,” I said. “Pull over.”

Grandma pulled the car over, waiting to hear my idea.

“I will sneak over to the Jeep. Don’t go any farther. Wait here until I pull out, okay?”

“No, Karen. I’ll do it. They may be watching for you, like you said. They won’t be watching for me. I’ll get the Jeep and bring it around to you.”

“You would?” She was definitely the best grandmother in the whole world. She was the greatest friend I could have right then. She believed in me, and that’s what I needed to restore my faith in myself. That’s what I needed more than anything.

“Yes. Now, is there anything I should know about driving it?”

“No. It’s an automatic.”

Grandma got out and I moved into the driver’s seat of her car. I gave her last minute instructions.

“I’ll back the car up and meet you on the other side of the building, by the traffic light. That’s where we’ll make the switch. You don’t know how much this means to me, Gram. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

I leaned out the car window and kissed her. Then she turned and snuck off toward the Jeep. My heart pounded as I watched her sneak between the rows of cars. I kept seeing her head pop up as she looked around in the dark.

I’ll bet she’s more nervous than I am….I should have done this…what if they catch her? I guess she can always say that she came to get the Jeep and that she doesn’t know where I am…at least they won’t lock HER up….

The Jeep was parked near the building. The bright lights from the hospital windows illuminated my grandmother as she nervously fumbled with the keys. What’s taking her so long to get the door unlocked?

I sighed with relief as I watched her get up into the Jeep. If it weren’t for my nerves, the situation might have been funny. My heart pounded as I prayed. Please, God, don’t let them catch us!

Now she had found the headlights. They went on, piercing the darkness of the parking lot. Oh, God, hurry up!!!

Now the Jeep was backing slowly out of the parking space. Good! I drove to the other side of the building where we would meet. At the light, I pulled over and looked in my rear-view mirror. Grandma was right behind me, pulling over, too.

I got out and went over to her. She was shaking from the excitement of our little adventure.

“Oh, Karen, I was so nervous. I kept thinking they would see me.”

“You did great, Grandma. Now, go home and don’t worry about a thing. I don’t know what I would have done without you!” (I’d be locked up in Palmetto General Hospital with nobody to rescue me!)

“Call me when you get home, Karen, so I’ll know you’re safe.”

“I love you, Grandma. You’re the best!”

“This was the most exciting thing I’ve done in ages,” she said, smiling. “Now, get going!” She nudged me to get up into the Jeep. “Hurry up, so they don’t come looking for us. And call me the second you get home.”

She kissed me, and I watched her get back into her car. The light turned green, but she didn’t go. I flicked my headlights to signal that I was right behind her. Mission accomplished, we both moved out.

On the way home, I did some thinking. I was so lucky to have Grandma. There was nothing like someone who knew me and believed in me. Family. It was worth everything. I never appreciated that simple fact before.

I thought about Mom. I missed her. She had always believed in me, too, but Pablo said…

I shuddered imagining what it would be like to be alone in this world. But then it hit me. I was alone. Pablo was gone.

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