It was the Monmouth County racetrack in Central New Jersey. I must have been about 15, or something thereabouts. My sister—six years older—was dating a fellow a couple years older whose father was very much into the horses. He had a horse whose name was Native Heir.

It was quite the talk of the family—Joy, my sister, dating Jim, whose father—an elegant, tall, sophisticated engineering executive, incubating a thoroughbred race horse.

In a sense, it all swirled together. My young teen years. Joy’s serious dating years. A certain amount of extravaganza with the race horse. And Terrill, patriarch as he was, cut an enormously influential figure in both his family and what apparently was going to turn out to be his son’s future in-laws.

As we went from racetrack to racetrack, Native Heir did not do terribly well. As Terrill continued to pony up (no pun intended) the entry fees for the races, Native Heir did not do as well as any of us would have expected. They were wonderful outings on Sunday afternoons…and Native Heir was a truly magnificent horse. But, at the end of the day, he ran 4th or 5th in most races.

But we all began noticing something about Native Heir and it was actually the subject of a post-race afternoon on a sunny Monmouth County Sunday. It appeared that the longer the race, the stronger Native Heir became. 5/8th races were impossible. Three quarter milers not a possibility. But what appeared to be the case was that the longer the race, the better Native Heir did.

And then came one fine summer Sunday with a glistening sun and a Belmont-size race. Native Heir was far behind at the quarter mile, long behind at the half mile, and keeping his own nearing the mile marker. And suddenly, Native Heir launched strongly and firmly into what was almost a sprint. As the other horses tired, Native Heir gained momentum, speed and strength. And as the race ended, as the other horses continued to recede, Native Heir sailed ahead, as if on air. If the race had been another half mile, there would have been no more horses on the track. The longer the race, the stronger Native Heir was, it appeared.

I don’t honestly know whether I attached to Native Heir because he reminded me of myself or because he showed me a path. What I sometimes feel is that I’ve appeared to gain strength as life has unfolded.

Life is not a sprint. It is not a quarter miler. It is not a race to the finish. Those individuals out there who have the fortitude to continue and the strength to gallop are the ones who ultimately win the race, primarily because they have endured the race.

I owe Native Heir a debt of gratitude. Or maybe Native Heir and I are kindred spirits in some other life form. Either way, I will never forget those sunny Sunday afternoons as Joy and Jim, as a young couple in love, watched their dad and future father-in-law’s horse run a race as I watched a celebration and learned a lesson I remember to this day.

Original writing date: September 10, 2007

This entry was posted on Thursday, October 25th, 2007 at 6:59 am and is filed under Business, Dynetech, Larry Pino, Life. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.