AT the 2022 Punchestown New Year’s Eve meet, I had asked a racing friend if he could help me find a yard as I hoped to enter the April festival charity race. I had already tried five yards without success and got the feeling the universe was trying to say something about a man in his 50s trying out as a jockey. However, a visit was arranged with trainer Conor O’Dwyer.

January rain clouds lowered over the Curragh gallops in the barest light of daybreak. And so here I was, sitting in the cab of a horse van with a yard crew literally half my age. The rain had only half passed and yard jockey Charlie O’Dwyer could wait no longer. The ramps of the van fell for me, with the apprehension of an infantryman leaving a landing craft on D-Day.

On the gallop, I rode in a half-baked hunting seat, my calf muscles ignited on fire with cramp, my back groaned, compressed in the cast of my body protector. The rain shattered across my face, my lungs stressed as I tried to breathe out against the rushing wind of my horse’s gait. And I questioned if I could endure four months of this.

In 2020 I had been in a better frame of mind and was all set for the charity race, but Covid lockdowns buried all hope. Worse was to come, my father; a lifelong racing fan, passed away in August 2021 and in the fashion of many devoted couples, my dear mother passed just three months later. And although the race organiser, James Nolan, had called to offer me a place in the 2022 race, my heart wasn’t in it.

Determination

But now in 2023 a great determination took hold of me. Week after week, I followed the string down the gallop past the magnificent copper angles of the Curragh stands, to the start of the nine furlong Free Eagle and Old Vic; sisters of equal beauty.

Up these we would go, hemmed in by the glistening white rails in the light of breaking dawns.

I knew that fitness was the key to a better riding experience. I had considered myself reasonably fit before taking to the gallops, for example I could run a reasonable 5km, but this was not enough.

I began to work on my core strength with plenty of sit-ups and variations thereof. Leg work was next. After getting home from work, I began to cycle a hilly lane near my home. Over the weeks, I cycled it upwards of 20 times a day, always standing clear of the saddle. Each week I would go up a gear on the bike, until in the end, there were no more gears to use.

Trainer Conor O'Dwyer, Ciara Maguire, Ronan Wilson, Charlie O'Dwyer, Audrey O'Dwyer at the 2023 charity race at Punchestown\ Davbar Images

Training

My hands were my biggest problem. I have practised sword fencing since my teenage days. The first rule is to hold a sword like holding a little bird. Too strong and you will crush it, too weak and it will fly away. This principle I found hard to apply to the reins, as my grip was vice-like. Despite the advice that some horses liked a little loop at times, for me it was as frustrating as trying to pop the clutch when learning to drive. Over time this would improve but I was still getting too close when cantering in the string and twice committed the cardinal sin of passing the leading horse.

March 8th was evaluation day at R.A.C.E (Racing Academy and Centre of Education). Here we were met by James Nolan, who explained the process. Our competence would be tested in tacking up, riding circuits of the indoor arena, riding laps of the centre’s gallops and finally observation on the horse simulator.

Before all this, James explained his own journey of kidney donation. Simply put; his life was saved by the courageous donation of his sister’s kidney. The mission of the Punchestown Kidney Research Fund (P.K.R.F) was to drive the message to “Have the conversation about organ donation” in the event of your passing. Secondary was the raising of funds to help kidney patients. To date the P.K.R.F has raised €1.7 million since its establishment in 1991.

To James’ credit, this is a huge undertaking. I observed him still managing the catering for all of us involved, long after our race at Punchestown. Only after passing our evaluation and a later medical examination were we cleared to start raising the €1,500 sponsorship target to qualify for the race. Everyone passed, the problem of raising funds was now matched with the challenge of finding a racehorse.

Conor O’Dwyer’s yard at Rossmore House is immaculate. It is described as a “boutique” yard by the discerning online. Feed charts and work rotas are prominent and attention to detail extends to each stable having a name plate with full breeding.

Loyal owners keep a stalwart of good horses here, it is only for these owners that races like mine can be run. In my case, I am very grateful to the Drive on the Dream Syndicate for permission to use their beautiful nine-year-old gelding Emir De Rots. Emir was among the horses I was assigned for most lots, giving me time to get to know him.

Raceday came too quickly and yet by now, I was very fit. I had lost 1.5 stone in order to make the 12st weight required. The weighroom could have been the kitchen of a busy restaurant but instead served breeches, boots and lead. Each valet was on a different heat, one cool, one simmering and another ready to boil. The parade ring was packed, I was launched onto Emir, my instructions from Charlie and Conor were to go out and enjoy it. In minutes we were in the spectator lined chute to the start. My biggest worry had been to get to the start, the pure vanity of not being “snotted” in front of my home hunt, but Emir hacked down as quietly as my hunter.

Pressure on

A vortex of 25 horses circled to start. I remembered my words to Conor the day I asked him for a horse, which were “to ramble round the course”. My inexperience, along with the weight of this privilege and the decency of the owners suddenly pressed down on me, I had to mind Emir. I pulled out of the circle and fell back from the field. I picked my ground: left of centre.

The snap of the starter’s flag began our symphony with a rolling cadence of hooves, accompanied by baritone shouts from the stands. After the smooth surfaces of the gallops, the coarseness of the turf surprised me, with Emir’s gait more dynamic. The first turn came quicker and sharper than my course walk had imagined, then to the back straight. I wasn’t sure if Emir had picked up a stride or the horses I passed were slowing.

With four furlongs to go, I knew I couldn’t catch the leading pack. On the finishing straight a horse ahead of me was about five lengths off. I changed my hands and sat lower, Emir found a gear and we passed. It was my only scalp as 56 lengths ahead, a huge roar went up from the stands. Kilcullen’s Paul Bell crossed the line to win.

Over those months I had stopped drinking, had more energy, better sleep and I had never been fitter. With thanks to family and friends, I raised over €2,000 for a worthy cause. Those 56 lengths did not matter, for I had lost but won.