In literary journalism today, we had a brief discussion, during break, about crying during movies--specifically cheesy movies (ahem MK). I listened, sympathized, but openly admitted that I don't cry during movies. It's not because I don't want to--it's just that I guess I rarely get invested enough in a movie to be moved emotionally.I do, however, sob--wait, that needs more emphasis--SOB during a much more obscure televised event.
Horse races.
I cry during the pre-show of every horse race I ever watch. I start crying because they montages they do are incredibly epic and well edited. I continue crying because our family business used to involve adopting racehorses after they couldn't run anymore. My mom, sister, and I adopted trailer loads of broken, slow, and unwanted horses from racetracks on the east coast. We taught them how to jump, how to relax, how to eat grass--and most of them were no more than 3 years old.
I know how devoted thoroughbreds are to their job. They know what they're doing, they know they want to win, and the amount of sheer talent it takes for them to make it around that racetrack is incomprehensible.
All of that being said, I cried through the whole Preakness this past Saturday. Why? The super filly, as they call her, Rachel Alexandria. Most people don't believe in racing girls against boys, but she did just that and she won.
She won without any balls, any testosterone, any male aggression. She just ran (and not even as well as she could) and became the first filly to win the Preakness in 85 years.
Yes, girl. Yes.
photo credit: Jason Szenes/European Pressphoto Agency, from http://therail.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/05/16/live-from-the-134th-preakness-stakes/?em
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