A day at the track isn’t about fuss and crowds; it’s about the sport itself and the people who keep it in good form. Still, the place vibrates with theatrics. It’s in the punters, twisted betting slips in clenched fists, feeling the high of winning €4 on a horse that was chosen because of a funny name (El Chapo, Yoko Ono Diamant or Ultimate Dancer, anyone?). It’s in the sulky jockeys (sulky refers to the name of the chariot, not the demeanour of the jockeys) in colourful, mud-spattered jerseys. It’s in the horses, and the tacit connection between animal and human.
The 2,000-metre races may only last minutes, but behind the scenes, you see that harness racing requires a lifetime of hard work. Away from the grandstands is a buzz of a different kind, of nervous pre-race preparation, of checking and double-checking. In these stables, you find a community of people who dedicate their lives to a sport they love – kids, parents and grandparents who contribute to early-morning feedings, training and travel, working endlessly throughout the day to get everything ready.
This is a family affair, a way of life that transcends generations. Though harness racing may have ancient roots, the sport is very much alive in the unlikely location of Karlshorst.
