I have watched the movie, Secretariat, or at least major portions of it, over half-a-dozen times in the last few months. I like the strong story line, appreciate the acting and enjoy the dialogue. The buildup to the final segment of the Triple Crown, the race at Belmont, induces a palpable excitement and tension. The opening half of the race, in which the rival horse, Sham, seems to have drawn “Big Red” into a pace he cannot possibly sustain, brings the tension to a dramatic high.

Then, in impossible fashion, Secretariat goes from fast to super-fast and Sham fades like memory. By the time the great horse approaches the final turn, he has opened up an insurmountable lead.

Then, the film goes into slow motion as the camera focuses on the rail where the fourth turn straightens into the home stretch. The yelling of the crowd is muted; time stops. Then, we hear the owner’s voice, citing once again Job’s quotation of the Almighty’s description of the horse, “He does not fear the sword…” In the midst of those lines, comes the sound of thundering hooves and Secretariat surges into view. Even though no other horse is anywhere near him, he pounds forward, straining and stretching, a graceful fury of muscle, bone and tendon in unparalleled power and coordination. He wins the race by an incomprehensible margin of thirty-one lengths.

No matter how many times I’ve seen it, that scene still brings a lump to my throat and tears to my eyes. And makes me ponder, what good might I do if I put such effort into reaching toward the heavenly prize, toward answering the upward call?

H. Arnett
1/2/12