I Am Maximus

My name is I Am Maximus, and I turned 10 years old a couple of weeks ago. They’ve been racing me since I was 4. I know when the sun hangs longer in the sky that the seasons are changing, and that this is the time of year that they put me on the boat – it’s time to go to England and do one of the really hard races. 

I live in Ireland now where they train me to run and to jump. In the past 6 years I’ve made over a million pounds for the man that owns me. He owns lots of others like me and profits from the work we have to do. Sometimes we die making money for him, like another of his horses, Corbetts Cross, did at Cheltenham last year. He just buys more of us when we die or can’t race anymore – we are disposable to him. 

I won the Grand National two years ago, but I came second last year. When I win they put a new jacket on me, pin rosettes to me, parade me around, and cheer and celebrate near me – it all means nothing to me. I know they want me to win again this year; they will tell me that with a whip. I always run as fast as I can to avoid being beaten. They beat me anyway. 

So, I’m on my way back to Aintree, but so many others aren’t. The Grand National killed Celebre D’Allen last year, maybe it will kill me this year. All I can do is run. I like to dream that one day I will be able to run on my own terms, with nobody on my back, nobody whipping me, and no threat of death. 

My name is I Am Maximus. I am someone.