Keeneland, Lexington, Kentucky

The starting gate rumbles as the other horses struggle to get their footing. “And they’re off!” the loudspeaker roars, as I burst through the gate.

Extending before me, the manicured dirt track of Keeneland racecourse is my own yellow-brick road. To ensure my view of the gorgeous Kentucky countryside, I dash to the front of the pack and take the lead at the first turn of this more-than-a-mile equine contest. The brisk October afternoon makes for heavenly racing conditions, and I hear boisterous cheers echo from the grandstand.

I envision my competition behind me, going two and three wide into the turn, with jockeys in their colorful jerseys surging forward and back, like a moving rainbow. Just minutes ago, we were all regally paraded around the paddock, serene as a Degas masterpiece, yet laced with an inbred competitiveness. The paddock here in Lexington is full of stately maple and sycamore trees, with pleasing patterns of walking circles. Beyond the crowd, I had glimpsed the majestic stone walls covered with ivy and the large round windows, which form the backside of the clubhouse and grandstand.

Here at Keeneland, tradition and class are sincerely observed. Many men wear a tie and sport coat, while ladies appear to have stepped out of Ann Taylor or Laura Ashley stores. I can even spot well-dressed children clutching ice-cream cones and hot dogs. As I hug the rail going into the backstretch, I try to bring my focus back to the task at hand, though I can’t help but eye the lush infield of this 65-year-old track. Again, a landscaping dream: pristinely clipped shrubs, a sea of emerald grass, and the all-important tote board. I maintain my three-length lead as I rocket into the far turn, though the symphony of hooves behind me is closing in. All too soon, we are heading for the finish line, and the race fans who line the rail have leapt to their feet, hollering and clutching their pari-mutuel tickets in anticipation.

Other horses draw even with me as the finish pole grows closer and the track announcer’s enthusiasm grows. The whip stings my rump and I battle to keep my nose at the front of the pack. A flash catches my left eye as a camera snaps this thrilling photo finish. I slow to a gallop and hear a huge roar from the crowd as my number is granted first position. In the winner’s circle: flowers, a trophy, and the admiration of my fans and beaming owners. America should truly cherish Keeneland; for patrons and horses alike, it embodies and preserves racing as it was meant to be.

—Kattie Evans

Los Angeles-based Kattie Evans grew up spending Saturday afternoons at the local race track with her grandfather.