He was moving like a ghost. Honestly, that’s the only way to describe the first turn at Pimlico on May 19, 1973. If you watch the grainy footage of Secretariat in the Preakness, you see something that shouldn’t happen in elite Thoroughbred racing. Horses aren't supposed to go from last to first in the span of a few hundred yards while navigating a bend as tight as Pimlico’s. Usually, that’s a suicide move. It burns the lungs. It drains the tank. But for Secretariat, it was just Saturday.
Most people remember the Belmont—the 31-length victory where he looked like a machine made of copper and lightning. But the Preakness was weirder. It was more controversial. For nearly four decades, the official record books actually lied about how fast he ran. It took forensic video analysis and a lot of stubbornness from owner Penny Chenery to prove that the clock was wrong.
The Move That Defied Physics
Ron Turcotte, the man in the saddle, didn't really plan to detonate the race at the first turn. Secretariat actually broke poorly. He was trailing the field. But Turcotte felt this massive surge of power underneath him—a "tremendous machine" as Chic Anderson would later famously call it—and he just let the horse whistle.
While the rest of the field was trying to settle into a rhythm, Secretariat accelerated. He looped the entire field on the outside. By the time they hit the backstretch, the race was basically over. It wasn't a tactical masterpiece; it was a physical mugging. He went from sixth to first in about 12 seconds. Imagine a sprinter starting a 100-meter dash by tying their shoes and still winning by five yards. That was the 1973 Preakness.
Sham, a legendary horse in his own right who would have been a Triple Crown winner in almost any other year, tried to keep up. He really did. But Secretariat just kept that rhythmic, devastating stride going. He crossed the finish line 2 ½ lengths ahead of Sham. The crowd went wild. Then the confusion started.
The 1:55 Mystery and the Broken Clock
This is where the story of Secretariat in the Preakness gets messy. The electronic timer on the track flashed 1:55. That would have been fast, but not a record. However, the official hand-timer for the Daily Racing Form, a guy named Frenchy Schwartz, looked at his stopwatch and saw 1:53 2/5.
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Wait. What?
That’s a massive discrepancy in horse racing. Two full seconds is basically ten lengths. The Pimlico stewards huddled. They looked at the equipment. They realized the teletimer had malfunctioned because members of the crowd had crossed the infield and tripped the electronic eye prematurely. So, the officials decided to split the difference—sort of. They ignored the electronic timer and the Racing Form’s expert and settled on a hand-timed 1:54 2/5.
It was a mess. For 39 years, the record books listed Secretariat’s time as 1:54 2/5, which was slower than Canonero II’s 1971 record. It bugged people. It bugged racing historians who knew, just by looking at the distance Secretariat covered, that he had flown.
Why 1:53 2/5 mattered so much
In the world of Thoroughbred pedigree and history, every fifth of a second is a heartbeat. If Secretariat had run 1:53 2/5, he would have held the stakes record for all three Triple Crown races. That’s the holy grail. It’s the difference between being "one of the greats" and being the undisputed apex predator of the sport’s history.
In 2012, the Maryland Racing Commission finally held a hearing. They used modern digital timing technology to overlay the 1973 race with other fast Preaknesses. The evidence was undeniable. Secretariat had moved faster than the physical clock could handle. They retroactively changed the time to 1:53.
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Finally, the ghost was given his due.
The Heart of the Machine
Why could he do it? We found out later, after his death, that Secretariat had a heart that weighed about 22 pounds. A normal horse heart is about 8 or 9 pounds. It wasn't a deformity; it was a gift. When he made that move at Pimlico, his heart was pumping oxygenated blood at a rate that would have caused a stroke in a lesser animal.
His rival, Sham, actually ran a hell of a race. In almost any other year of the 20th century, Sham’s performance in the Triple Crown would have made him a legend. Instead, he’s a footnote. A shadow chasing a red blur.
- The First Turn: Most jockeys wait for the backstretch to move. Secretariat didn't.
- The Surface: Pimlico is known for being "tight." It’s a track that rewards agility.
- The Rivalry: This race broke Sham’s spirit before the Belmont even started.
People think the Triple Crown is about endurance. It's not. It’s about recovery. The Preakness happens just two weeks after the Kentucky Derby. Most horses are still sore. Their muscles are full of lactic acid. Secretariat looked like he’d just had a nap.
What Fans Still Get Wrong About 1973
A lot of casual fans think the Preakness was his "close" race because the margin of victory was only a few lengths. Don't be fooled. Turcotte was hand-riding him toward the end. He wasn't even whipping the horse. He was saving something for the Belmont.
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The strategy was simple: get the lead, break their hearts, and cruise home. If Turcotte had asked for everything, Secretariat might have run a 1:52. But in 1973, the goal wasn't a speed record—it was the blanket of Black-Eyed Susans.
The controversy over the timing actually added to the mystique. It turned the race into a piece of detective fiction. For decades, if you went to a bar near Pimlico, you’d find old-timers willing to bet their house that the clock was rigged or broken. They were right.
Learning From the Greatness of Big Red
If you’re looking for the "why" behind the legend, you have to look at the splits. Secretariat’s ability to run each quarter-mile faster than the one before is statistically insane. Most horses start fast and slow down. Secretariat started fast and got faster.
- Watch the Replay with a Stopwatch: Don't look at the horse; look at the markers. Compare his first turn to any other Preakness winner. It looks like a glitch in the Matrix.
- Study the 2012 Hearing: The Maryland Racing Commission's report is a fascinating look at how we use technology to correct history. It’s a masterclass in forensic sports analysis.
- Respect the Rivalry: Go back and look at Sham’s times. If you take Secretariat out of the 1973 equation, Sham is arguably a top-five horse of all time.
- Visit Pimlico: If you ever get the chance, stand near that first turn. You'll realize how narrow it is and why Secretariat's move was so incredibly risky.
The Preakness was the bridge. The Derby proved he was good. The Belmont proved he was a god. But the Preakness? That’s where he showed he could overcome a bad start, a bad clock, and the laws of physics all at once. It was the grit before the glory.
The most important takeaway for any sports fan is that records aren't just numbers on a page. They are snapshots of peak physical performance. When the Maryland Racing Commission finally corrected the record books in 2012, they weren't just fixing a typo. They were acknowledging that for two minutes in May, a horse did something we might never see again.