I thought I had November 5th and 6th all planned out for this year.
March: I was invited (begged may be a better word) by some running buds to run the Ozark Trail 100 on November 6th. I considered it...until I saw that the Breeder's Cup Classic would be run that day. The Classic--how could I miss it? It was likely to be the last race of what is probably the greatest mare to ever set foot on a racetrack.
And even if for some crazy reason I decided to go ahead and run the race, and DVR the Classic for later, I would spend much of the race wondering what happened and before you know it, DNF just so I can get home sooner.
No, no...I would make sure my schedule was clear for that day. We would watch the race on our new big-screen, high-def television (thanks to my husband's mom for the X-mas gift!). I would cheer and cry for Zenyatta, then spend the night reminiscing her racing career with my husband.
July: We were still planning on watching the Cup at home, but this time with a guest--a buddy of my husband's that is often at the racetrack with him. Cool and fine by me, as long as he doesn't mind seeing his friend's wife sob over big Z.
October: I was sitting on the couch at home, doing what--who knows. No, wait, I was sitting on the floor, which means I was either in the middle of yoga or playing with the cats (or both). My husband stood in the door frame to the office and said "Maybe we'll go the Breeders Cup this year?" Should we?! We were, are, broke and really can't afford to travel anywhere but...too late! The ball was rolling, the gears were turning.
Zenyatta in the flesh--she was the horse I had dreamed about for 20 years, and I was going to see her in the flesh?
Turns out my husband's buddy (yup, same one) was headed there and, why shouldn't we go, also? Why sit with our thumbs up our butts when Churchill Downs is within a day's drive away? Last year I had wanted so badly to fly to Santa Anita in California to see the Breeder's Cup, only to be defeated by high airline and hotel prices. That wasn't the case this year. Carpe diem!
Fast-forward to today. We have all the details ironed out and the tickets are in the mail. And no, no--they weren't outrageously expensive and they're actually good seats. They're not right at the finish line but, in my opinion, somewhere even better--halfway between the turn for home and the finish line: Zenyatta's real estate.
And, from what my husband has told me, I know I won't be the only wet-cheeked one in company on that day. To bring: box of Kleenex.