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| George Allan Bryant with one of his trainees |
Perspective. It shifts throughout life, shaped by moments and experiences. In turn, the perspective gained from those experiences shapes your life. For George Allan Bryant, it was perspective that led him here: standing in the shedrow of his barn at Lone Star Park, where his name and initials hang on a sign on the barn’s exterior after years of dreaming of training racehorses.
While running his own training operation is new to Bryant, the racetrack certainly is not. His father, George Bryant, was a Quarter Horse jockey who later transitioned to training, so it was natural for Bryant to spend a vast amount of time at the track during his childhood. In the barns of the now defunct North Texas tracks Ross Downs and Trinity Meadows, Bryant helped his father out by cleaning stalls and walking hots, learning as his passion grew.
“I always knew I wanted to train, but for some reason, I didn’t want to compete against my dad,” Bryant said. “That’s why I waited until he was done.”
Instead, Bryant went on to be an off-and-on assistant for his dad, playing an integral role in the senior George Bryant’s racing operation. Bryant’s undeniable passion for racing led to various other roles and endeavors in the sport. In addition to a role as racing manager for ownership group HDT Allied Management, Bryant has served as a board member of the Texas Thoroughbred Association since 2017. He has also established himself as a well-respected handicapper and a proponent of the sport, especially through his podcast, Horse Racing Destination.
Bryant’s father retired from training in 2021, but it wasn’t just his retirement that prompted Bryant to finally take the leap to embark on his own training journey.
While out to dinner in late summer 2021, a sore on Bryant’s tongue that had bothered him for a year or two became suddenly unendurable. Encouraged by his girlfriend and friends, he had it checked out.
“I was told it was too soft to be cancer,” Bryant said in regards to his initial appointment to address the spot.
Unfortunately, testing proved otherwise. But even when the cancer was confirmed, he was originally told it was not terribly serious.
While this grim news loomed, Bryant had recently received other big news—news of a happier, more exciting variety. He and his girlfriend, Solvin, were expecting a baby. The contrast of the two pieces of news could not have been more extreme, especially when Bryant soon received far more devastating news regarding his cancer diagnosis.
“Then they told me, if you don’t take care of this, you won’t be around for your son,” Bryant said. “It was stage four.”
That fall, Bryant underwent an intense 12-hour surgery, in which half of his tongue was removed. In turn, a section of his forearm was taken from his wrist to replace that half of his tongue. A total of 74 lymph nodes were also removed from his neck during surgery.
It was two days before Bryant woke up post-surgery, a week before he left the ICU, and another 10 days before he was able to return home—multiple drains from the surgery still intact. Then it was time for radiation.
Looking back at his seven weeks of radiation, spanning 30 rounds of treatment, Bryant can’t help but wince. The therapy itself was painful and uncomfortable, but the resulting side effects mark it as the most arduous point of Bryant’s journey.
Bryant began radiation therapy in December, and around the holidays, he could not swallow as a result of the treatments. Unable to eat or drink for several days, he was admitted to the hospital, where a G-tube was inserted into his stomach to deliver nutrition directly.
The uphill battle only continued. Bryant became ill in January and though his final round of radiation was completed on January 28, an onslaught of side effects still awaited him. He lost the hair on the back of his head, lost his beard, and had holes burned in his mouth. But it was the constant draining of “slime” that brought Bryant misery. He could only sleep for three to four hours at a time, unable to lay back without feeling like he was drowning in it.
“I remember telling my girlfriend that I didn’t know if this was worth it,” Bryant said. “That was the darkest time.”
But his passion for horse racing pulled him out of the darkness. He’d sit in his leather chair, turn on horse racing, and watch the races all day. The passion never left him. As he sat in that chair, the perspective gained from his cancer journey reminded him of the dreams he still had a chance to chase.
He was soon declared cancer free.
In late February, Bryant drove to Sam Houston Race Park and took the trainer’s test. He passed, and posted the news to Twitter, where he had gained quite the following not only through his cancer journey, but through his podcast and undeniable passion and skill for the game. As a result, a handful of followers prepared to send him horses.
Bryant had faced the uphill battle of a lifetime, but now, at long last, he faced an upward trajectory. By the beginning of April, he had horses on the backside of Lone Star. And on April 27, one day before opening day of his home track, Bryant and his girlfriend Solvin welcomed their son into the world. Once again, light shone at the end of what had once been a dark tunnel. And even here, Bryant’s passion was reflected: his son was named River Derby Bryant.
Less than three weeks later, Bryant saddled his first-ever runner as a trainer. Rancho Bargo, who he’d claimed weeks prior for Stephen Thompson, finished fifth in a starter at Lone Star. The next day, Bryant sent out Moro Mafia for another one of his earliest supporting clients, Wes Melcher. The 2-year-old filly finished a respectable fifth among a field of first-time starters as the longest spot on the board. With eight weeks of the Lone Star meet remaining, Bryant has his eyes on the winner’s circle.
Now, at the beginning of June, six horses are stalled in Bryant’s portion of a shedrow on the Lone Star Park backside. His initials and name on a large, navy sign on the building’s exterior announce who proudly trains this string of Thoroughbreds. A large whiteboard donning the set list hangs aboard the door to his tack room and office, where burn pads, saddle cloths, and blinkers boast the same initials: GAB. The barn has every mark of a well-thought-out training operation.
In the corner of that tack room and office sits a leather chair. The same chair where Bryant spent the darkest moments of his life, finding motivation in dreaming of what is now reality.
“I’m really doing this,” Bryant said as he looked out over his six Thoroughbreds resting in their stalls. “I have a full-blown operation. I love this game.”
The chair.
