Once upon a time there was the old racehorse she was stuck in this old paddock with a bunch of other retired racers and she was just existing, not living, just existing. Every day she would walk over to the dirty watering hole to quench her thirst. She would see herself in the murky water and think, I am not a broodmare whose progeny will live on, I never won a race, old, beaten down, I don’t like who I have become things just rot. She would wander away and chew on the spindly non-nourishing gray grass and count another day. This went on for years. One day though she heard the other old horses talking. They are sending the truck, you get on that truck and you never come back. You are a goner.

That was it. The old racehorse said, “There is more to this than existing so I am going to try anything, something.” She gathered herself up and jumped the fence. She stood standing there looking back at the other racers. The truck was coming up to the paddock gate. The other horses stumbled onto the truck not caring what their fate would be. The truck drove off.

“Now what?” thought the old horse. At that moment, a bunch of people happened to drive by looking at the old paddock realizing the truck had come and the horses went to their fates. The people were sad, but there was nothing they could do. Then the people saw the old horse outside the paddock looking at them and looking back at the paddock. “Wow, that one jumped the fence,” said one of the people, “maybe, we can help that one.”

So the people took her back to their farm. They gave her the tools to rebuild. They gave her a warm stall, good food, clean water and time to heal. After a bit, the old horse didn’t look like the sad creature they had helped. She was still old, but her hide gleamed, she had spirit in her eye and a look of determination.

“Let’s enter her in a race,” one of the people said. So they did enter her. The old horse stood in the starting gate at the race. The other horses entered the gate, snorting and rearing, some fought the gate, some entered and were fearful, but all of them stood, waiting. The old racer was calm, and she remembered her job. The gate opened and the horses were off. The old one turned over her shoulder and looked at her rider. She collected herself, grabbed the bit and her teeth and she was running like the hounds of hell were pursuing her. She ran hard and fast not looking at her competition or the people in the stands. After a bit she realized something, “this is an odd race.” All the other horses were running not on a circular track, but willy-nilly seemingly following their own paths. She couldn’t see any patterns nor did the rider guide her in any way. She slowed down to a trot and started to look around her. This isn’t a regular race. She looked at the sky and saw a big neon sign that said, “Life.” I get it now the object of this race is not in the winning or losing it’s about living it. She felt a gentle tug on her bridle and her head turned and she recognized her rider. “You are HOPE,” she exclaimed. “I got it now.” The old racer is running a race now at the pace she sets and the winning comes from all that she experiences.

CC