“From the Horse’s Mouth”

A “first-person” journey into the hearts and minds of the 2025 Belmont Stakes contenders...

The Belmont Stakes in Their Own Words

There is an entire world that exists between the ears of a horse. These big, beautiful creatures are driven by emotion—they feel, respond, anticipate, communicate, and carry both stress and comfort in ways that can often go unseen unless you know how to look.

In my work, I’m constantly searching for new ways to explore and share the inner workings of the equine mind—to let them tell us not just what they are, but who they are.

As I finished my scouting for The Competitor’s Edge: Belmont 2025—the first time I’ve created an analysis for this race—I found myself thinking back on some of these colts I’ve studied since long before the Derby. Their profiles had evolved with new performances, deeper data, and growing experience.

And then it hit me.

I’ve been telling their stories. But what if I stepped aside... and let them tell it?

While stats and speed figures dominate the racing conversation, herd dynamics sees the race differently. Through this lens, it’s not just about how fast they run—it’s about who they are while running. The internal operating system. The emotional rhythm. The way each athlete experiences competition, space, and energy in their own unique way.

So I asked a question: What if the horses could speak?

What would they tell us about their journey to the Belmont Stakes?What would it feel like to be them—an elite athlete, wired for survival, facing a battlefield of pressure, noise, and emotional chaos?

These are their stories.

Drawn from the Herd Dynamic Profiles created for The Competitor’s Edge: Belmont 2025, and countless hours of study and research getting to know who they are, each voice you’re about to read is more than fun, poetic whimsy—it’s a window into the psyche of these incredible athletes.

Let the horses speak. Let the world listen.

Sovereignty:

“I wait until the world speaks first.”

I am not one to charge into chaos just because the gates open.

Let them sort themselves out. Let them bump, press, surge, and scatter—I’ll be here, listening. Feeling. Watching how the air folds and bends around the noise. That’s how I find rhythm. That’s how I know where to go.

At Churchill, they said the track was a mess. But to me, it was just another variable, another layer of sound and space. I don’t mind the squeeze—it taught me patience. I don’t mind the pace—it taught me timing. When I saw Journalism take the brunt of the fight, I tucked in behind his energy and let him pull the crowd forward. Every storm needs a windbreaker.

Then I felt it.

That moment when his rhythm faltered—not physically, but emotionally. He reached his wall. I felt it crack like a shift in pressure. And that’s when I moved. Clean. Quiet. Through.

People say I “won the Derby.” But I didn’t win it—I read it. Every good race is a book, and I know how to read between the lines.

Now we come to Saratoga. A mile and a quarter feels like home. The track breathes differently here. It opens. Expands. I’ll listen again. I’ll wait for the space to speak.

And when it does—I’ll answer.

Journalism:

“I don’t run from the fight. I run into it.”

You don’t get to choose the kind of race you’re given. You only choose how you respond to it.

I’ve seen chaos. Felt the slap of mud against my chest, the breath of another horse pressed to my side, the squeeze of space so tight it almost stole my rhythm. I didn’t flinch. I calculated. I absorbed it all, and I kept moving.

In the Derby, they rushed like colts chasing shadows. I waited. Listened. Let them burn the front end while I stayed in the flame. Sovereignty and I—we found a cadence inside the storm. He got the better of me at the wire, but I didn’t leave that race with loss in my gut. I left with knowledge.

Then came the Preakness. And I was done waiting.

They boxed me again. Tried to mute me in the middle. But I’ve learned how to scream without making a sound. My body moved, but it was my will that cut through. When Gosger tried to claim space, I didn’t yield—I devoured it. That final surge wasn’t about stride—it was about identity.

I am not just another horse in the gate. I’m not just part of the herd anymore. I am the pressure. I am the rhythm. I am the fight.

And if the Belmont becomes a battle—I hope they bring everything they’ve got. Because I know exactly who I am now.

And I won’t blink.

Baeza:

“I don’t just want to win. I want to understand why.”

There was a time when I ran for the feeling. The rush, the stretch, the instinct to be ahead of the next shadow. But lately, I’ve started to hear something different in the rhythm. A logic. A pattern.

I’m not just chasing anymore. I’m thinking.

At Churchill, I stood in that wide, outer gate with the roar folding over me like a wave—and I didn’t flinch. Not because I had no fear. But because I’ve learned not to listen to it first. I took a breath, let the herd go wild, and stepped into my own rhythm. Not their rhythm. Mine.

I saw space, created it. Felt pressure, defused it. Not with muscle—but with awareness.

And then, when the moment came… I let go.

The thing about becoming who you are is, you don’t always notice it happening. You just realize, one day, you’re no longer asking the track for permission. You’re claiming your place in it.

Now, it’s Saratoga. A smaller field. But perhaps bigger stakes.

I know who I’ll be facing—some I’ve run with, some I’ve learned from. But this time, I’m not here to follow or to chase. I’m here to see the race before it happens—and run the one I want.

Because I’m not just learning how to compete. I’m learning how to belong.

And I think I’m getting close.

Crudo:

“I don’t run to get away. I run to see who’s coming.”

I like being up front. Not because it’s easy—Because it’s honest.

When I’m there, I can feel them behind me… breathing down my lane, testing my space. And I like that. I like to dare them. Come on. Come see what I’ve got.

Truth is, I don’t really know the answer yet. I haven’t had to find out. Most races, I move clean, no friction. Set the rhythm, feel the wind, don’t look back. But this? This one feels different.

They’ll come harder. Closer. They’ll ask questions I haven’t had to answer.

And yeah—That makes something stir in me. Not fear. Not exactly. More like... curiosity. What happens when they don’t back off?

I think I’m ready. I think I’ve got something they haven’t seen. But thinking and knowing aren’t the same thing, are they?

So let ’em come. Let ’em press.

I’m not just here to lead—I’m here to learn. And if I learn fast enough…They’re gonna learn something too.

Rodriguez:

“Don’t try to hold me. Just try to keep up.”

There’s no slow build in me. No long fuse. No steady climb.

When the gate opens, I ignite. I don’t need to know where they are—I feel them. Behind me. Around me. Pressing, breathing, daring.

Good. Let ’em come. I don’t want a quiet race. I want to own the noise.

I’m not here to blend in. I’m not here to wait. I’m built for now—for motion without permission.

But I’ll admit it—sometimes I burn too fast. If they get too close, if they touch the wire I’m riding on, I flare. My body goes before my brain can brace it. And that’s when things can fray.

Still... this race? Fewer bodies. More space. That’s what I need.

Not the lead—My lane.

Give me air to stretch. Give me time to feel the rhythm before they try to steal it.

And if they do?

I won’t hesitate. I won’t ask. I’ll go.

Because I don’t just race to win—I race to release what’s already coiled inside.

And if I time that release right, they’re all chasing smoke.

Uncaged:

“I don’t rush. I align.”

Some horses feel the gate open and ignite. Not me.

I don’t chase the break—I chase clarity.

When the others go, I let them. I listen. I sort the noise. I look for rhythm, for stillness inside the storm. Because for me, it’s never just about moving forward—it’s about knowing when it matters to.

Sometimes it takes a while. My thoughts… they come in clusters. I don’t always know which one to follow at first. But give me space. Give me time. Let me find someone to anchor to—and I can build something from that. A stride. A plan. A reason.

I don’t want to lead. I want to launch. I want to find that perfect horse ahead of me—the one whose movement speaks a language I can understand. And when that connection clicks? I become more than I look.

You won’t see it coming. But you’ll feel it—when I break loose from behind and surge into my shape, not frantic…but fully formed.

I’m not the flash. I’m the quiet force waiting behind it.

And if the rhythm finds me—I will find the finish.

Hill Road:

“I don’t just run—I build.”

Some horses are born knowing. I wasn’t.

For me, the race isn’t just about speed. It’s about structure. About figuring out where I am, where I’m going, and how I fit between those two points.

When I break from the gate, I feel this tug—part of me wants to surge, to lead with fire. But another part says… wait. Measure. Feel the ground. Find the right layer to stand on before you leap.

It’s not always smooth. Sometimes the gears misalign. Sometimes the noise outpaces the rhythm, and I lose a step. Especially with these blinkers… they quiet the world, but they also dim my sense of it. And when I can’t see the space, I can't always feel it either.

But I’m learning. Every race adds a beam, a bolt, a better foundation.

I’m not here to dazzle. I’m here to evolve.

And if I can find the right rhythm—one that opens rather than closes—If I can trust the flow, trust myself…

Then the final turn won’t be a test. It’ll be a reveal.

Not of what I was. But what I’ve become.

Heart Of Honor:

“I’m not afraid to run. I’m just trying to find where I start.”

I feel things before they happen. The hum of energy, the shift in air, the motion inside the motion.

And sometimes… it’s too much. Not because I’m weak. Because I care what it all means.

I don’t leave the gate in a blaze. I leave it searching—trying to make sense of the noise behind my eyes. Trying to find where the ground is most still so I can place my first step with meaning.

The others rush past, some with fire, some with purpose. I try to follow. Not because I want to chase them. Because I want to understand how they know.

But I don’t stop. Even when the rhythm doesn’t come easy. Even when the gate feels tight and the blinkers blur more than they help. I still go.

Because somewhere in the stretch, when the world softens for just a moment—I feel it.

The link. The line between who I am and what I can be. It doesn’t last long. But when it does, I move like I’ve always belonged here.

Maybe this isn’t my race. Maybe I’m still learning to speak the language. But I’m listening.

And if the race lets me—I’ll answer.

And there you have it—straight from the horse’s mouth.

I hope you had as much fun reading their “commentary” as I did writing it. I’m always looking for ways to bring you closer to the horse—from inside their herd-wired, emotionally unique minds—and this idea came to life with that purpose: to let the athlete speak.

To explore the full psychological scouting report for each Belmont competitor, visit Competitors Edge | Sensory Soundness or email us directly at sensorysoundness@gmail.com to request your copy. (The report will only be available until end of day June 7th, 2025, so don't miss out!)

Want to understand your own horse at this level? Visit the Events Page to explore upcoming clinics, educational offerings, and be sure to check out our signature Herd Dynamic Profiling service:➡️ Events/Clinics & Lectures | Sensory Soundness Events/Clinics & Lectures | Sensory Soundness

Thank you for reading, for sharing, and for being part of this journey. Your support means the world to me.

~ Kerry